Brutal
by Number One Fan of Journey
Summary: The Hunger Games are always brutal. But the 43rd annual Games, one filled with the destruction of long-time relationships, has been called one of the most horrid. *Crossover: Some of the tributes bear quite a resemblance to countries we know...
1. Careers

Author's Note: Hello, everyone, and welcome to my newest fiction. It's been bugging me nonstop, so, despite my other fics, I decided to write it.

Know that, although they may appear in this fiction for the sake of realism, I do not condone swearing or using the name of God in vain.

To HG fans: This is just about your average Hunger Games. There's an abnormality of people with countries for names, but I thought they sounded Panemian enough. And, because of the characters I'm planning to use, most of the female characters will die early on. For that, blame the APH creators.

To APH fans: I've adjusted the characters' names to sound more like what you would hear in the Hunger Games world. You'll still be able to figure most of them out, I think, but if you want to know which country is which, feel free to ask. Keep in mind some of the tributes are just original characters, though. And, since this is the Hunger Games, people die. Here, the countries are human. That also means they won't have the same history, so their personalities and grudges are going to be a tiny bit different.

Whatever fandom you come from, I hope you enjoy this fiction.

* * *

**Alf Meric, District 1**

"Sorry. The Tribute Training Facility is closed for reaping day."

I blankly look over the plain, ivory sign mounted on the black, steel door. Closed? It can't be closed! If it's closed, I'll have to go _home_ for breakfast. And Dad will force me to eat his cooking.

And my dad's cooking... It smells and looks like rotting animals and puke, and it's nasty enough to kill a man.

Needless to say, I'm not going to risk eating it.

I guess I could just skip breakfast...

Okay, no. That's out of the question. I've never skipped a meal in my life, and I'm not planning to start now.

But... If there's nothing here to eat... What am I supposed to do?

All right, I know. I'll just run home, swipe some money before Dad notices, and buy a hamburger or something.

Yeah, that'll work.

* * *

I'm still devouring my way through my cup-and-strawed soda pop and half-wrapped burger breakfast when it's time to get in formation for the reaping ceremony.

I'm already at the town square. It's the biggest town square of all the districts', with tons of shops and fancy restaurants lining three of its sides, and a little park with trees and a pond on the fourth. The area roped off for tributes is about full already—which, I guess, is probably because it's almost time to start—and the area for families and others is just as crowded.

So, I go ahead and push my way into the sixteens section while slurping those last few drops of soda through the straw. The ragged, suctiony noise of it is enough to make some of my neighbours flinch. I have to stop myself from laughing at them. Dad hates that sound, too.

All the more reason to make it.

I'm not on good terms with my dad. It's his fault, for being such an idiot.

He used to like me, when I was a little kid. Always making sure I was happy, bringing me toys and cake.

But it didn't last. He started to turn his attention to worse things. Divorcing Mom, treating me like I wasn't even there.

The one thing he still cared about with me was being a Career tribute. He always, always, always made clear that he didn't approve of the idea of risking my life to kill others.

I remember the look on his face when I ran off to do just that.

Priceless.

I crumple up the burger wrapper and stuff it into the empty paper cup since I'm done with both, and then look up to the stage. The portly mayor is finishing up his speech, and the escort is jumping up to draw names.

He walks up to the boys' bowl first, as always, and splutters about how excited we should all be, even though we're already excited enough. He dips his fingers into the bowl and carefully plucks out a single slip.

Wouldn't it be cool if I got picked? That'd piss off Dad for sure.

"Alf Meric!"

Seriously?

_Seriously_?

I laugh, throwing my trash to the side—someone'll pick it up eventually—and charge toward the stage.

"I volunteer for tribute!" two voices call in unison.

I don't stop to look at them until I'm already onstage. The two who must have volunteered—an older-looking, short boy with a few teeth missing and a blonde boy with creepy eyes—are now attempting to beat each other down so they can't get to the stage.

They both succeed. And I'm left without competition.

Sweet!

As the escort goes over to the female tributes' bowl, I find Dad in the crowd. I shoot him a flashy grin that says, "You didn't want me to be the district's hero? Well, too bad."

**Vivi Daley, District 1**

The boy tribute who was called is grinning and flexing toward no one in particular. He's pretty bulky, but looks like an idiot, despite his glasses. Most Career tributes are of that sort of IQ.

But not me. I'm not your average Career.

Though I've endlessly been told and trained to build muscle, I've never been able to, really. Even the years in the Tribute Training Centre didn't help, but that doesn't matter. My strength is my intelligence.

That, and the use of about every blade known to man.

I turn my thoughts back to the stage. The escort is now going to select the female tribute. He trills something so dripping with Capitol accent I can't understand it, then walks over to the girls' bowl. He swirls his hand around inside a few times, knocking a couple of the slips out. He doesn't seem to notice, and he plucks a piece of paper out of the bowl.

"Aura Ryo!" he calls, free enough of accent for me to comprehend.

There's a miniscule pause, and I know there's no time to waste if I want to do this.

"I volunteer for tribute!" I shout, thrusting my hand in the air. Another girl echoes me loudly, but it's obvious she's too late.

I make my way to the stage confidently, exaggerating my strut. The cameras are directing my image to televisions across the country, and I want to look strong.

And I _am _strong. But, the audience may not instantly come to that conclusion about a smaller-framed fifteen-year-old girl. So I need to act a bit exorbitant about it.

Once I'm on the stage—a fresh-smelling rectangle of pine and metals embedded with false jewels—I see the faces of the crowd. The other Careers, frustrated this is not their year. The normal district children, staring hypnotised at me and those around me. The district people not up for reaping, watching dully like they plan on our district losing this year.

But I will not lose. Even though I haven't been training as a Career as long as others, I have more than enough bloodlust to make up for it. I desire to calculatedly slice away the life of a human, to see the crimson flow like silk from the corpse, to dig my nails into the slimy blood of the slaughtered.

I can almost smell it all now. That lovely, metallic, salty tang of the blood, permeating the fresh air until it's all that can be detected. I long for it so.

Does that make me insane? It's possible.

But if insanity will guide me through the bloodiest competition in Panem, then let it be.


	2. Optimism and Pessimism

Author's Note: I won't be doing the chapters by district (this chapter is District 9), but they'll still be chronological (reapings, then goodbyes, then train ride, et cetera), so it shouldn't be too confusing.

And, yes, the boys have been reaped first in these chapters. Hopefully you don't mind.

To APH fans: Russia may seem out of character... But don't worry. It shouldn't last long. ;)

I very much appreciate reviews if you're willing to dish one out for me. :)

* * *

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

"S-Still really cold, isn't it?" A white cloud comes from my sister's mouth as she speaks, like her words are taking shape in midair.

"A-As always," I reply with a smile, continuing to walk beside her toward the town square.

"Yeah." She stops talking for a second, cups her hands, and blows into them in an attempt to warm them up. "U-Usually not this bad this t-time of year, though."

"T-True." I look at my own hands, which have turned a vivid shade of red, and put them in my pockets. It's not much, but the slightly tattered, grey cloth helps with the cold.

My reaping outfit isn't that nice. We can't afford much, since Mom's not in physical condition to work because of a chemical incident. But my sister and I can both work, so we're doing all right. I mean, some families in the district can't even afford the more threadbare versions of my outfit, let alone what I have. So I'm thankful.

We're nearing the town square now. I can already see outlines of the buildings—nicer than those in our part of the district—as well as the colourful streamers hung about that contrast sharply from the homogenous, white clouds behind. More details come into view as we draw closer: store banners battered by the wind, patches of rust on the dark metal stage, crowds of potential tributes clustering for warmth and complaining of the cold.

"W-Well, off to the eighteens, I guess," my sister announces, rubbing her hands together.

"A-All right," I reply. "See you after the reaping."

Sis smiles back at me and walks away to the eighteen-year-old section. I'm glad she's eighteen. That means, next year, she won't have to be in the reaping at all.

I still have a few years to go, myself, being fifteen. But that's all right. I'll just have to wait a little longer, is all.

My friends at school call me an optimist. But I don't see why that would be a bad thing. What's wrong with looking at the bright side of things? We don't have as many things to like as others, but we also don't have as many things to hate.

Well, that's how I look at it, at least.

Rubbing my hands together and blowing on them, I manage to warm up a little as the escort steps up onstage. She's shivering like crazy, despite her several layers of colourfully-striped clothing.

"A-Are w-w-we a-all r-r-r-ready f-for the r-r-r-reaping?" she asks in a high-pitched voice, her bright white teeth chattering violently.

There's no reply to her question, but I go ahead and nod. I'm ready enough.

"W-We'll s-s-s-start w-w-with the b-b-b-b-boys!" she announces, taking quick, small steps to the boy tributes' bowl. A boy standing next to me holds his breath—I can only tell because the stream of condensation from my right has stopped—as the escort pulls out a single slip.

"R-Russia B-B-B-B-Bragins!"

Wh-What?

"I-Is R-R-Russia B-B-B-Bragins h-here?"

"Um, h-here!" I call faintly, raising my hand.

"W-Well, c-c-c-come on u-up, th-then!"

"O-Okay..." I start out of my section.

I... got... reaped?

But... I've never had to take tessarae. I'm not on the high end of the age scale, either.

So... how...?

I walk up the steps to the stage, which clanks hollowly as I put my feet on it.

The escort calls for volunteers, but there are none.

So... I'm... going to the Hunger Games?

W-Well...

...A-At least it will be warmer in the Capitol.

**Ukraine Bragins, District 9**

My cheeks may be frozen, but the tears running down them are painfully warm.

My brother, my only brother, has been chosen for the Hunger Games. After everything I've done to protect him—taking a few tessarae, making him a nice scarf with my own hands—there's nothing I can do now.

And there's no way he'll survive on his own. He's not a fighter. The only fight he's ever been in was at school, a year ago. He didn't mean to pick a fight, but some students, with harder lives—though a life harder than my little brother's is rare—don't respond well to optimism. One of these students, one named Vahn, attacked Russia.

My brother never raised a finger against him. He ended up covered in bruises, and got a broken wrist to boot that kept him from working for a good two months.

...And Vahn wasn't trying to kill him.

So... in the arena... with _everyone_ trying to kill him...

I can't think about it anymore. I turn my attention back to the stage. Russia's standing there, his childish smile stubbornly clinging to his face, and the escort is about to draw the girl tribute. She jams her hand into the bowl, and her control sapped by the cold, almost knocks it over before having a giggle fit about it. She pulls out a small strip of paper, slowly, as if to build up suspense.

"Yu-Yu-Yu-Ukraine B-B-B-B-Bragins!" She squints at the slip. "R-R-Really? Ooh! A f-f-f-family! Th-That's a g-g-great t-twist!"

A great twist? A great twist! What kind of heartless monster thinks that throwing siblings into an arena to kill each other is a... a _twist_?

Apparently the heartless monster right in front of me does.

My legs are already taking me to the stage, though I don't remember instructing them to. The small crowd in front of me parts easily, with sorrowful silence. Clunking over the stairs, my shoes take me onstage, where I take my place next to the escort.

I'm to stand here and look at the crowd, the cameras. But why? Because that's what everyone does, because that's what they've told us as etiquette in school? All I can see is bleak, windburnt faces, staring up at us, horrified we're being sent to our deaths but overwhelmingly relieved they escaped.

"A-Any v-v-volunteers?" the escort chirps.

Not one of those bleak faces volunteers for me. I don't expect them to.

The escort's still painstakingly cheery as ever as she takes Russia's hand and mine and makes us shake.

But once she takes her hand away, I stop restraining myself.

And hug my brother.

I don't know how much more I'll be able to do this. We have... about a week together before the Games begin. And then... I'll do my best to protect him. I'm not much more of a fighter than him, but I can't let him die. Not while I'm around.

I... I know he won't win in the end, but... but...

...Who am I kidding? I... I can't do anything about it. With the drawing of those slips, the Capitol decided we're going to die. And we are. No matter how hard I try, I won't be able to keep myself alive. And if I'm not alive, there's no way I can protect my brother.

This... is hopeless after all, isn't it?


	3. The Pianist

**Austria Edel, District 8**

District 8's Justice Building is much nicer than where I live. Large rooms, intricate designs in the flooring and wallpaper, giant couches soft enough I sink into the cushions. Even the common room in the orphanage is more broken-down than this.

Yes, I live in the orphanage. My father was gone in a factory accident before I was born, and, lacking sufficient funds to provide for both herself and me, my mother overworked herself. She caught flu, and, with no medicine and little strength, passed away.

I was only eight years old when I moved into the orphanage. There was little room for me, so I had to make do without a bed other than the musty floor, any clothes other than what I already had on, or lunch other than what I could beg other orphans out of.

Ten years later, things have changed a bit. I did get a thin mattress, though it's too small for me. I earned enough to buy a spare set of clothes for the reaping—the clothes I'm wearing now, actually—and I got my share of lunch.

After today, I was to be exonerated on my own. 18 is the age of legal adulthood, and I would have been kicked out of the orphanage earlier if it weren't for the Games. With all of the ownerships lost and the complicated handing down of possessions that comes with being sent to your death by the Games... The orphanage was made to keep 18-year-olds in their care until their last reaping.

And today was my last reaping. And, very likely, my last day in the district. I only have my final goodbye session, and then it's off to the Capitol.

There's not much to do for my final goodbye. I don't have parents, or any real friends. All I have is my fiancée.

And she's been reaped as well.

Veta has been my fiancée for about three months now, and my girlfriend since two years before that. She doesn't live in an orphanage—she has parents, who I believe are visiting her now—so we didn't meet there.

We met at an instrument store. She was there to purchase a zither, while I was there to play the store piano.

I couldn't have purchased the piano had I paid all my wages for six years, and the store owner knew as much. But, the first time I wandered over to the store eight years ago, the owner took pity on me, and showed me the basics of how to play. I enjoyed it, so I kept coming back.

By the time I was fourteen, I wasn't the same cute, little, pitiable kid anymore. But the owner still let me play his piano. He told me I had become skilled enough that my playing attracted business to his shop. He even situated the piano closer to the entrance so I was easier to hear and watch.

Because of work, I couldn't come often; on weekdays and Saturdays, I would have to risk the night's sleep to play the piano, but I got Sundays, for the most part, to myself.

It was on one of these Sundays that I met Veta.

So, in a way, I only know her because the owner took pity on me that one day.

I owe him a lot—for that, most of all, but also for filling up those lonely days in the orphanage, and for providing me with something to enjoy, to look forward to during my bleak days in the textile factory.

The door opens with a distinct click. A visitor? I turn to look.

It's the music store owner.

"Hello," I start, bowing my head a bit as he comes to sit next to me.

"Hey." The man crosses his legs and exhales. "I wish this didn't happen to you."

"Agreed."

"But..." the man continues, "...there's not much I can do, is there? I'll send you a few donations, of course, though I won't be able to afford much."

"It would be expedient not to spend much," I reply. This man's done enough for me. I don't want him to bankrupt himself for what's likely a lost cause.

"And... here." The owner shuffles through his pocket for something and pulls out a white handkerchief. "If you don't already have a district token..."

He pauses, looking at me, so I nod to show I don't have one.

"I'd like you to have this." He spreads out the handkerchief, and I start to see something sewn into one corner.

A piano.

"Thank you," I say, accepting it when he hands it to me. "Thank you... very much."

The music store owner nods, standing up like he couldn't stand being seated. "You're a good kid, Austria. I'll be keeping an eye out for you, all right?"

I nod, and he walks over to the door.

"On my part," I begin, afraid I won't be able to catch him should he take another step, "I can't thank you enough for all the time you've given to me."

He nods as the Peacekeeper opens the door for him.

"Goodbye, Austria. I hope you'll grace my music store again."

**Veta Ungar, District 8**

My only visitors are my parents. But they haven't been able to say anything. They're just bawling over my getting reaped. Mom, trying to wrap me in the protection of her arms, and Dad, trying to stay strong but still unable to hold back tears.

I... guess I should probably be crying, too. Because I'm not sure if I'll survive this.

I mean, sure, I've beaten the crap out of many a guy at school who wanted to pick a fight, but I've never... _killed_ anyone. And I... I don't think I'll be able to in the arena.

But... I could hide out and survive. It's happened in the Hunger Games before. At least once.

I think.

Interrupting my confused thoughts, the Peacekeeper swoops in, deciding my parents have embraced me long enough. He pries them away from me forcibly, and I can only watch despairingly as they're hauled away.

This is probably going to be the last time I see them...

But I can't let myself worry about that. It's... It's pointless. Instead, I need to... to think about my strategy in the arena.

Whatever path I take, it'll be hard. I'll have to look out for myself, as well as my fiancé. He's... well, not weak, but... All right, yes, he's pretty weak. I've finished more than a few fights for him, and I'm expecting I'll have to finish a couple more in the arena.

So, how will I do it? I know how to throw a punch, but that'll hardly be enough against a well-trained Career. I'll have to get a weapon from somewhere. The Cornucopia's pretty well out of the question—though it _is _vaguely possible—and I'm not sure how I can accumulate enough donators for a weapon.

And I'll have to train with multiple weapons in the Training Centre, so no matter what I can get my hands on, I'll be able to use it...

This is all a complicated mess.

But... That's all right. I don't care how complicated it is, how frustrating it can and will get. I'm not going to pick any fights in the arena, but I _will_ be prepared if someone else takes the fight to me.

No matter what happens, I will survive. And I'll bring Austria along with me.

* * *

_I nod. "That's what I asked. Do you sell them here?"_

_"A zither," the salesman says to himself. "Well, I know I don't have any on display. Wait in the store a while, and I'll check the storage room."_

_"All right. Thank you!" The store owner nods and disappears behind a wood-and-iron door._

_I start to wander about the shop. Trumpets and clarinets are suspended from every wall, and a collection of guitars occupies a cluster of stands. Near the front of the store is a lone piano I noticed on my way inside. The door, a metre away from the large, black instrument, swings open, releasing a jingling from the bells above it._

_A boy, about my age by the looks of it, walks inside. He has worn glasses that look like they may have been snatched up from the street itself, and his black hair has a nice sheen to it. He has a small beauty mark, but otherwise, I think he has a good-looking face._

_He acknowledges me with a nod before taking a seat on the piano bench. Curious, I walk toward him, but he doesn't seem to notice. His carefully poises his fingers above the keys, and after a moment's hesitation, begins to play._

_I've never heard a more magnificent pianist in my life. His fingers drum out the notes flawlessly, with a certain feel I don't know how he accomplishes. Whether he's playing an ancient tune I've never heard or something fabricated from the depths of his own mind, I don't know._

_I just know he's wonderful._

_The playing starts to taper off, and with a final chord, he removes his fingers from the keys. He looks up for a moment and seems to realise for the first time that I am here._

_"Good morning," he starts, sounding a little awkward that someone had been watching him._

_"Good morning," I reply. I motion to the piano keys. "That was an amazing performance."_

_"Thank you." He cracks a cute smile._

_"May I ask," I start slowly, folding my hands in front of me, "what your name is?"_

_"Austria," he replies. "Austria Edel."_

_"I'm Veta Ungar." I hold out a hand, and he shakes it. "Nice to meet you."_

_His smile grows a bit. "Likewise."_


	4. Unknown

Author's Note: Ohoho, it'll be a bit annoying to read through the second part of this chapter. Just a warning.

To APH fans: I genderbent Poland so he/she could come from the same district as Lithuania. She won't act much different, anyway. Aha.

WindBlown101, you're the awesomest reviewer ever. :D

...And if anyone thinks he or she can prove me wrong, I'd sure like to see you try. ;)

* * *

**Toris Lithu, District 12**

My first visitor in the Justic Building is my father. The Peacekeeper lets him in silently, and he responds with a curt nod before taking a seat in one of the chairs. He crosses his arms, which are much more muscular than mine, and scrutinises me with his deep blue eyes.

I inhale coolly, holding his gaze with my own blue eyes.

I look a lot like my father, actually. Same eyes, same nose, same wavy, brown hair that we both keep a little longer than the average male's.

I'd like to think the resemblance stops there, with the physical traits, but that's a lie. We're about the same psychologically, with one striking difference. The questions we ask.

Like the one Dad has opened his mouth to ask me now.

"So, will you come home?"

What a question, Dad. What a question.

Not that I didn't expect him to ask something like that. It's a habit of his, really. Asking those questions no one wants to hear, think about, or answer. Questioning everything we know, making me share his feelings of disillusionment...

I'm used to it. I hate it, and I never want to consider anything he's asked me, but I'm used to it.

As for answering today's question...

I don't know. I want to tell him that I don't know. But he never, never takes that as an answer. Thinks the slightest indecision is a sign of weakness. So I have to come up with a clear yes or a clear no.

_Could_ I survive in the arena? Well, being only 14, I'm not going to be taller or stronger than most of the other competitors. I could say that I'm smarter, but being book smart and knowing how to survive the Games are two very different things.

What else could help me win? Luck? There's no predicting that, especially when I don't know what the arena is yet. Alliances? I don't know how much that would help.

I will be allied with Poal, though; she's my district partner here as well as a childhood friend. We've known each other for a while, long before I had to relocate to the Seam because of financial troubles.

She never had to move. She hasn't had the most pampered life, admittedly, but she was always better off than me. Her family runs a candy shop, what they've done for generations, and even though the market is limited to the richer of District 12, they always manage well.

My family never inherited anything from our forefathers. Only our lives, destined to waste away in the lightless depths of the coal mines.

But it looks like I'll break with that destiny after all. Instead of the mines, I'll waste away in the Hunger Games arena, with so many cameras on me people may actually pretend to care. Is it better than dying in the coal mines, where your name and face will fade from the world's memory within a week?

I don't know. I don't know the answer.

But that question will gnaw at me day in and day out until I find an answer. It's how I've been raised.

As for the question at hand...

Dad is still staring at me calmly, waiting for an answer. I meet his eyes.

"Yes. I will come home."

Dad nods, the look on his face showing my statement was what he expected.

"Then I will be waiting." He stands up and scans me for a moment...

Then bends down and embraces me.

And as soon as his arms release me, he's already out the door.

My only other visitors in the Justice Building are my two brothers, Esto and Raivis. We reminisce a bit, about the funner things our family has been through, then the Peacekeeper arrives to shoo them away. They bid me a rushed farewell, and then they're gone.

Will I ever see them again?

...

I don't know.

**Poal Feliks, District 12**

The Justice Building is pretty nice. Nicer than the chipped tile coating my workplace's floors, the carpet's pretty and thick. I can't help but kick off my sandals to feel its fluff between my toes. A few velvet chairs in rich colours are scattered strategically through the room, as well as a few matching throw pillows on a matching couch.

That's where I sit, shuffling my hands through my short, blonde hair before trying to settle them onto the folds of my pink-and-green reaping dress.

I, like, can't stand this. Not only have I been reaped for the Hunger Games, my, like, best friend ever is getting forced there with me.

I always enjoyed being around him, so, like, as a kid, when we still lived within walking distance of each other, I would pull him into things, like, a lot.

But I would never bring him into something like... _this_.

Like, why do they have to have the Hunger Games, anyway? I know, like, the Treaty of Treason and all that, but... _We_ weren't the rebels. None of us kids has, like, anything at all to do with the rebellion. And, like, none of our parents do, either. So why do they have to punish us?

I don't know. It, like, doesn't make any sense to me.

I guess it's just something you can't really stop.

So, here I am, totally innocent, and still, like, being shipped off to my doom.

Well, I'm not being shipped off just yet. I still have my, like, final goodbyes to get through before that.

My mom and dad have already come and gone, and, like, most of friends have, too.

All of my friends but Toris, actually. And he can't come because he's, like, in his own room in the Justice Building.

Oh, Toris. He's a fun guy, once you get to know him and once he snaps out of his, like, little mood freezes. Of course, I still always had to, like, point out what the funnest thing to do was, but he'd be happy—well, usually happy—to come along.

It'll be nice to, like, get to talk with him again. I know it won't last very long, but it'll definitely be totally cool. I mean, it's been, like, a whole year since I've seen him. That's only because he's too busy with some job he never identified, so we can only, like, see each other at reaping ceremonies.

Not that happy a place to be meeting.

But it's totally better than nothing.

Of course, the Hunger Games arena and stuff won't be, like, happy, either...

God. I'm really, like, going to be in the Games, aren't I? I... I don't know how I'll do. I mean, I'm only, like, thirteen. I'm not really that strong, but I bet I could, like, figure out something... I'll have time in the Training Centre, so I should be able to learn something useful. Then I'll just, like, use that.

I guess that's kind of a shaky strategy, but oh, well. It's, like, the best I have. I'm not the brilliant mind here—though I'm totally not just stupid, thank you very much—Toris is. And if those freaky thoughts that steal away his attention for, like, minutes on end are any indication, he's probably the smartest tribute in the field this year.

So, he pulls the strings and I just, like, help us survive. It's worth a shot, isn't it?


	5. Muted

Author's Note:

To APH fans: America isn't in these chapters, but I need to introduce all the tributes first. He'll show up more come gametime, but I'm still not sure we could really call him, or anyone else, a main character. Ah, well.

* * *

**Thew Canda, District 3**

I don't like the train to the Capitol. There's nothing wrong with it, per se. There's enough space for my entire extended family in just my bathroom. The drawers by the bedside are full of comfortable, fancy clothes. The bed itself is equipped with impossibly soft bedding and a surplus of feather pillows. And the kitchen staff today has made the most delicious food I've ever had.

But its perfection is exactly why I don't like it. It's like they're... fooling us. Making us think that this entire experience is going to be wonderful, before the arena is introduced and we're slated for death. It reminds me of the winning tribute last year, who made several alliances with his kindness and charm, only to stab them all in their sleep before the field even narrowed to the final eight.

Despicable. Both him and the Capitol. Lulling people into a false sense of security only to strike them down. It... It makes me want to scream, to throw things and smash them to tiny pieces, to lash out at someone and knock him to the ground.

But I won't. No matter how riled up I get, I... I never hurt anything. I... don't know why; I've just... I've just never been able to.

Just leave things to my imagination. The results will be the best, and no one gets hurt. Don't strike the teenager that insulted your mother; just imagine it. Don't hit those two boys because their bickering destroyed the first meeting of the club you founded. Just imagine it.

Just imagine it and move on.

"Time for dinner!" I recognise the overenthusiastic trill cutting through my thoughts as the escort's.

Rolling off the comfortable bed, I open up my door and trudge over to the dining car.

The escort as well as District 3's victors are already seated around the rectangular, white cloth-covered table, and my fellow tribute, Maria, is pulling out a chair for herself. Though I don't try to, I somehow catch her eye, and she smiles at before seating herself. I smile back weakly, but it took me so long she's already looked away. Sighing internally, I sit down in the chair next to the escort. She responds with a cheerful hello, but I only mumble in reply.

How is she so happy about all this? Happy to draw the names of children to line them up to die, to interact with them and pretend to be their friends, then hardly shed a tear at their deaths? And when they don't die, but live to be an emotionally wrecked, hollow human being, she's happy to reap the profits and get more ridiculous lavishness for herself?

It's horrendous. Unforgivable. Inexpiable. Deserving of no respect, only malice. Malice that I know I won't be able to show openly.

I close my eyes and inhale slowly. No need to get worked up. It won't amount to anything.

_Clink!_

I open my eyes back up to see a small bowl of pinkish soup, with slices of something yellow floating it in, on the plate in front of me. Looking up, I see the waiter setting down the last cup of soup in front of Maria. My gaze trails up to her face.

She's really pretty. If I knew her better, she's the kind I would ask on a date... Well, in my case, I would walk up, say hi, then suddenly get too nervous and run off, but... You know what I mean.

This isn't the first time I've seen her around. She goes to my school, but I don't think we have any classes together. I've just seen her in glances across the hallways.

Even now, I won't be able to see her for long. The train ride, the chariot ride, the few days in the Training Centre, and then we're done. We may run into each other in the arena, but...

But I don't know her well enough to trust her. Because of the Capitol's decree, one way or the other, she'll be trying to kill me.

I hate this.

**Maria Carriedo, District 3**

Dinner in the train goes by smoothly, with waves of stagnant talk about weather and television shows phasing in and out, and the silent waiters always ready to switch out courses or refill drinks.

Though the food's amazing, I can't stand to eat much. Just the first three courses—a pink soup that tastes like lemons and rice, a bowl of shrimp in a bright green sauce that smells sharply of herbs, and slices of pork soaked in raspberry sauce—make a bigger meal than what I'm used to.

My family's not what you'd call poor, but we certainly can't afford a feast like this every evening. Though me, my parents, and my big brother Spain all work in the factories, we'd never attempt to make a meal like this. We'd usually just have a microwave burrito and whatever vegetables we could grow in our small backyard garden.

But the people here today would never do that. They have enough money to eat like this every day.

...Well, the people besides Thew, I mean.

I glance over at him to find he had already been looking at me. We both look away immediately, returning to our food.

Nothing else interesting happens, and the escort soon cheerfully dismisses us to our rooms.

Once in my car, I flop over the bed and turn on the television. It looks like the reaping recaps are on. They must have just started, or just cycled over, because a plain, black screen reading "District 1" in white letters is flickering on.

The screen disappears to show the escort, who looks about as outlandish as ours, drawing a name. He calls it out, and the shot switches to one following behind the muscular tribute walking onstage. The scene jumps to show two wannabe volunteers fighting each other, then jumps again to show the confirmed tribute's face.

And my jaw drops.

Because, somehow, despite being separated by a district and a whole lot of morals, this Career has the exact same face as Thew. Same eye shape, nose, mouth, winning smile... Even his glasses are the same size as Thew's.

It's... eerie. That someone so far away, with such a different history and personality, could look exactly the same as my half-silent districtmate.

Well, the same in the face. The Career's hair is the same shade of brown, but it's styled a bit different.

..._And_ he's a heck of a lot more buff.

All the better to kill me with, I guess.

_Will_ he kill me? I'll be trying to avoid the Careers—I don't have a death wish—but, odds are, with all the Gamemakers wanting confrontation and having the tools to create it, they'll probably find me at some point. Then what? I fight back? I run? As much as I'd love to bash their idiotic faces in with a heavy blunt object, I know I wouldn't be able to. Even though I'm fifteen, dead in the middle of the Hunger Games age scale, I'm probably no stronger than the younger ones.

So, I'd run instead? No telling how that would work out. For all I know, there won't even be solid ground to run on. It could be all water, or ice, or tangles of tree branches impossible to get a foothold on.

And, on top of that possibility, the Careers have likely been trained for that kind of plan. They wouldn't want a potential kill just running away from them, after all.

So, apparently neither of those options is going to work.

Here's hoping I don't run into a Career.


	6. Honour To Us All

**Japan Hond, District 4**

The train ride is rather exciting. The meals are much better than the standard Career tribute training fare—perhaps even better than what I cook at my own home—and I have constant access to television feeds.

While the former is more enjoyable, the latter is more necessary. With the television tuned to a summary of the day's reapings, I can get a better hold of my fellow tributes' confidence levels and physiques.

Most of the tributes are the average bunch: trembling, unprepared children from most Districts and muscular Careers from their districts. Not much is notable, especially at this point, but there are a few things.

The boys from Districts 1 and 10 seem the most... Well, I wouldn't go as far as to say full of themselves, but... something similar to that. The ones that look physically strongest are the boys from 1 and 2, and the girls from 2, 4, and 11. All but the last will be my allies for the first portion of the Games.

And after the first portion, after the field of tributes wanes...

I will have to eliminate them as well.

It will be a difficult matter should I end up unarmed—I don't possess the most impressive build myself, while almost all of the other Careers do—but if I have access to my forte, swords, they will be easy to eradicate.

I don't mean to boast, but no one there will be able to best me in swordsmanship. I have trained with swords since my first years of life, and, being seventeen, I will certainly have more experience than the other Careers. Even if one of them should share my specialty, only the male from 2, also seventeen, could possibly near my years of practice.

Even so, I will not lose. No matter what, I will return to my district with honour.

I catch the television cycling back to District 1, so I turn it off.

That was the summary of my competition. It's all I will recieve until the time in the Training Centre.

The information I gather there will be much more accurate, though it still carries the possibility of fallaciousness. After all, some tributes are quite skilled at disguising their strengths. Nevertheless, I will attempt to gather information. I refuse to underestimate a foe—such foolishness would surely lead to my death.

"Japan! Chia! It's supper time!" The escort's chipper voice breaks me from my reverie. I climb off my bed, file out the bedroom door, and make my way to the dining car.

I'm the first Career to arrive—only the escort is seated—so I take an empty chair and wait. While an Avox waitress lays my napkin across my lap, I look about the table. It's larger than a lot of dining tables I've seen, but the tables I've seen did not have to provide space for nineteen people.

Nineteen. The two tributes every year, plus the escort, and the district's sixteen previous winners, some of which are entering the room now.

A few of them are elderly by now, their victories long ago in the first years of the Hunger Games, and a few just three or four years older than me.

All of them now live lives of distinction, of fame and fortune, of honour.

And I will join them.

I turn my gaze to the other competing this year. She has short, very curly, brown hair, dull blue eyes, and a scrutinising scowl. She's muscular enough to stay alive in the competition, but she will not win.

I will.

**Chia Mendel, District 4**

The escort's _way_ too cheerful. I mean, the guy I'm being thrown in with, Japan, is gonna die. And the escort's just acting like we're both gonna make it out. It's stupid.

And annoying. Really, _really_, annoying. His voice is high-pitched enough to break the crystal, airbrush-stenciled wine glass I'm drinking from—thank God it hasn't happened yet—and he has this stupid habit of eating while he's talking. I mean, we can't understand you in the first place, all right? What makes you think shoving a bunch of food in your mouth is gonna help with that?

Course, I'm shoving my face with food, too—though I'm not stupid enough to try and talk while doing it—because this Capitol junk is _good_. Way better than usual Career fare.

I mean, not that Career food is bad or anything, but it's definitely not your gourmet junk. It's specifically for health and muscle-building and brain supplements and all kinds of weird crap.

But this, what I'm eating now, isn't designed for anything like that. It's just made to be good. And it is. All seven courses of it.

First is soup, a shade of creamy sky blue that tastes faintly of salty mushrooms. After that is a plate of some weird kind of shish-kebab, with extremely tender squares of white meat alternating with tiny slices of various vegetables, all of it soaked in a pungent sauce. Next is a bowl of greens drowned in a bright orange dressing that smells of citrus. The fourth course is lobster tail and garlic butter, something a girl from District 4 is pretty well used to eating. But, making up for that, next is lamb, something I've never eaten in my life, and it and its brown sauce make a pretty good first impression. For the sixth course, they hand us plates of some kind of stew, with beef and tiny potatoes and carrot pieces. Then, last but not least, is a plate of a pastry, some pieces with warm, strawberry filling, some with apple, and some with just a wonderfully gooey icing to complete it.

I can't eat everything they give me—I've got no idea how the escort can—but I have about half of everything. It's more than enough to fill me up.

There's nothing else to do around here now, so I dismiss myself to my train car. It's still too early to go to bed, and nothing good's on television, so I just lie on that comfy bed, with its irritatingly bright shades of pink underneath me, and think.

Wonder what the arena's gonna be like this year. In the videos of previous Games I've watched, they've had everything from jungles to mangroves to icy wastelands. Dunno what I'd want to fight in. It'd be nice to have room to fight, and not to slip on the ground every step I take, but that's about all the arena could threaten me with. No water? Big whoop. I've got sponsors. No food? See previous answer.

So, it'll be a breeze most of the way through, I'm sure. Then, when the field dwindles enough, I'll foment a fight in the Career pack and get the heck out of the way. After that damage, I'll just swoop in and get whoever's left. Simple as that.

Then I go home, to Mom and Dad. And they'll _finally_ leave me alone about the frigging Hunger Games. "Oh, she's going to be the best Career this district's ever seen!" "Oh, she'll win those Games and make us all proud, you'll see!"

It's annoying. All they ever wanted was for me to come out here and win the stupid Hunger Games. It's all they've ever talked to me about, all they've ever spent money on me for. They'd never talk about boys, or give me money to go shopping or something. Because I'm not just a plain old girl. I'm the girl destined to win the Hunger Games and bring home pride and blah blah blah.

I hate it all. Maybe I _wanted_ to just be a plain old girl. Maybe I wanted to go through plain old school, have some plain old friends and a plain old boyfriend. Maybe I _didn't_ want to go and volunteer just so you all can get all happy about it. Maybe I didn't want to waste all those years worrying about hacking dummies to pieces and killing fake animals.

Maybe I just wanted to be _normal_.

But my parents don't care. So here I am, off to kill some people because they're both idiots.

It's annoying.


	7. How the Capitol Works

Author's Note: Once the Games start, I'm going to throw in some recommended songs for listening. Some of them might have an overall theme that goes well with the chapter, some just have a chorus and a couple of lyrics that do the same, and some just sound like a good soundtrack for the action. I'll let you figure out which is which when the time comes. :)

To HG fans: Ciano's what you would call... eccentric. Or maybe just a weirdo. If you're not familiar with Hetalia, he will make no sense at all. (Not that he makes much sense in Hetalia, either.)

I would appreciate any sort of review, short or long, praise or concrit, if you're willing to take the time to dish it out for me. :)

* * *

**Ciano Idalya, District 6**

The prep for the chariot ride got off to a kind of rocky start. When I first showed up to the styling room, the assistants thought they had accidentally gotten the girl tribute!

...Something seems a little wrong about that, but it _is_ kind of funny.

I do look like a girl, a little bit, even though my shiny, brown hair's boy-short, and I have a flat chest and everything. Sometimes people tell me I act like a girl, too, but I never understand what they mean by that.

Well, after I cleared that problem up for them, things went on... as usual, I _guess_. I've never seen what goes on here before, since they don't show it on television, so I don't know for sure.

But I'm guessing they make all the tributes strip down before they start. I don't mind much. I'm kind of used to that, since I go streaking a lot when I get bored.

Ve, the neighbours hated it—one got a restraining order I never followed, and another one just sat out on his front porch with a rifle in his hand, which wasn't very scary until he started firing—but it was too fun to stop.

Anyway!

The assistant stylists take me through some sort of bath that smells really weird, and then do my brown hair. They spend most of the time, over an hour, trying to slick down my cowlick, but in the end, they give up. I've never gotten that little curly lock of hair to behave, either, but I kind of expected the fancy Capitol things to be able to fix it.

Because there are a lot of fancy things in the Capitol. Things a district kid like me can barely even imagine... It all seems really cool! The amazing little inventions they use to do everything from untangling their hair to dying their skin in all kinds of neat, bright colours like orange and purple... I'd love to live here. There's fashion to keep up with, and the girls are a lot prettier, and I would have enough money to have fun every day without worrying about my neighbours firing bullets at me!

Nothing like home. Fashion there barely exists. People just wear battered clothing to work every day, ignoring everyone else's rags. Even when it comes to everyone's reaping outfits, there isn't any sort of trend. People just wear something that looks kind of nice.

I can't say all the girls at home are ugly—my district partner isn't, after all—but the Capitol girls are more... I don't know, perfect-looking. Girls in District 6 usually look more like boys than I do. Ha!

And they have all sorts of parties here. Parties with lots of yummy food like pasta and lots of dancing and lots of those cute Capitol girls! And these galas happen every night here, instead of the rare two-family dinners they might hold at home to celebrate surviving the reapings.

Hmm... I guess I didn't survive the reapings, did I? I _am_ going to the Hunger Games, but, I mean, that's a lot later, so... I don't really need to worry about it now.

After all, I wouldn't want to miss out on any of the fancy things in the Capitol.

**Tiee Bongiovi, District 6**

The styling took a really long time, especially compared to my normal morning grooming schedule, but it's finally over now. They've ripped off all the hair they wanted to, clipped off all my curly, elbow-length, dark brown hair's split ends they wanted to, and dressed me up in all the clothes they wanted to.

The costume doesn't make that sense to me; chariot outfits are supposed to represent your district's industry, right? So why am I dressed in some tie-dye doctor's coat with wings? I _kind of_ get the theme of it, but it's still ridiculous. I wonder, is this what doctors dress up like in the Capitol?

Trying to imagine someone dressed like this giving me my yearly checkup, I can't help but flinch. Yech.

"It's time to get on the chariot, dear." I turn to see my stylist nodding at me and motioning to the chariot a metre away from him.

"Right." I start to walk in that direction, the shiny, black boots I'm wearing clopping on the hard ground. I think the bottom feathers on those fake wings are dragging on the floor, but I don't care. It's not my fault the stylist can't adjust for a shorter tribute's stature.

I wonder if my height will hinder me in the arena. It might be covered with trees—that idea's been used year after year—and I don't think the Gamemakers would be kind enough to throw something with low branches, like a sycamore, in there.

Because we all know the Gamemakers are anything but kind. They're getting worse and worse each year, adding new obstacles that will burn you to death in a land of ice, or freeze you to death in a land of desert. I guess all of that is so much more entertaining to the audience.

It's horrendous to think that people are actually entertained by this, still. I don't know what the Capitol thought when the Games first started, but now I know what the problem is. The parents have been brought up watching the Hunger Games, and somehow, with all the propaganda and financial advantages they can get from betting, they accepted it.

So they brought _their _children up to accept it. To watch it, to love it, to cheer for the bloodthirsty and spurn the righteous that refuse to kill. They'll never know how wrong this is.

And I don't think any generation is going to stop this cycle of appalling violence.

"Ve! Look, we're dressed the same!" I jump, looking over to the speaker, who had apparently snuck up onto the chariot while I wasn't paying attention.

It's my district partner, Ciano. He's just a little taller than me, like most people are, with light brown hair and an overly-hyper attitude that reminds me of a five-year-old child.

And he was right when he said we were dressed the same. Even the leather boots, which I think are a little odd to put on a guy, but whatever.

So, are the stylists saying we should be a team? Why? Just because we're from the same district? I've seen plenty, _plenty _of tributes that didn't ally with their district partners.

And, frankly, I'd rather not ally with mine. He hasn't been acting like the sharpest thorn in the brush, and I have a feeling he's not hiding anything. If I ally with someone—something I _would_ like to do—he or she is going to have to be a little smarter. Or at least stronger, and not all skin and bones like the guy standing next to me.

"Um, hellooo?" Ciano waves his hand in front of my face, and I pull back.

"Hi," I deadpan.

"Oh! Hi!" he chirps, acting like I had just run up and hugged him or something. "I thought you were asleep or something!" He laughs.

Yeah, sure. I was asleep, eyes open and blinking every once in a while, standing up, and twisting from side to side periodically. It's how _everyone_ sleeps, right?

Yeah. This guy is _so _not who I want as an ally.

But, just as the horses start to pull our chariot outdoors, he grabs my hand.

"What the—Let go!"

But he doesn't seem to notice, and once we're out in public view, there's not much I can do.

So, with the crazy Capitol already speculating, this must mean I'm stuck with Ciano, who's waving and picking up flowers like these people actually care about him.

Well, crap.


	8. Smile

**Philan Visce, District 11**

I hate all of this. The humiliation of being half-naked on national television, that I know the girl standing next to me, being in the Games in the first place.

I shouldn't be here. Under normal circumstances, I would not have been chosen. I'm already fifteen, and I may have been forced to take some tessarae for the orphanage, but among all the population of the district, my chances were slim enough.

Yes, the orphanage. A place I moved into a few months ago, like so many others in our area of the district, after the colossal brewery explosion. Such a disaster was completely unthought of, and the orphanage barely had room and board for most of us. A few dozen tessarae per person may have provided enough half-inedible food, but, no matter how much—or how little, as the case may be—money the place got from the government, they couldn't provide enough space.

So, they got together the last male and female to applicate for their care and gave us an ultimatum.

Volunteer for the Hunger Games, or we will cut you off. No food, no water, no clothing, no medicine, no chance of shelter.

I don't know whether that's legal or not, but they'd get away with it. Our applications for the orphanage would simply disappear; we'd be wiped from all existence on paper in the course of a few days.

So, really, my choice was die in a week of only-God-knows-what, or die a painstaking few months later of starvation or disease.

What else could I do? Nothing, that's what. Because the Capitol is too busy destroying their money with expensive costumes and garish makeup and fancy chariots and trained horses and hordes of cameras and gigantic television screens to have enough left to feed starving orphans. Because the Capitol doesn't care if we live—unless we land in the Hunger Games. Then they _do_ care. They care enough to send their money for survival rations and tents and knives that the tributes, rather than the needier orphanages, receive. They care enough to spend money on astronomical television bills to watch their favourites day in and day out.

And they care enough that they _might_ actually frown when their favourites die.

But that's rare. Usually they're too busy cheering for the murderer, because he made it an interesting fracas, something fun to watch.

And that's all the Hunger Games are. Something fun to watch. They couldn't possibly be something inhumane. Some sort of crime to humanity that butchers innocent children for crimes the Capitol itself committed.

Nothing like that.

"Hey, twinny." I know from the nickname my district partner whispered it.

We call each other twins: she's my "twin sister" and I'm her "twin brother". It's kind of true, since we _were _born on the exact same day, but we don't have the same parents. We don't look anything alike, either; I have short and ragged hair, light brown eyes, and a prominent nose, while she has shoulder-length and sleeker—though it's more well-brushed now than it usually is since she doesn't actually _own_ a hairbrush—hair, blue-grey eyes, and a small nose that's always a little red at its very tip.

"What's eating you?" she continues, motioning inconspicuously at her smile.

Yeah. I'm supposed to smile, aren't I? For the sponsors. Because now that they get to watch my death like a bad movie, they'll provide me with what I need to survive.

It's all twisted and ridiculous.

But, fine. I'll smile, anyway.

**Peyton Unbi, District 11**

Philan's upset. I can tell, not only because of our amazing twin connection—okay, fine, maybe we don't actually have an amazing twin connection—but also because he has that distant, upset look in his eyes again. That look that says he's having a violent fulmination with a foe he can't argue with in reality.

I tell him to smile, indirectly, and he complies, but I know he's not feeling it.

Yes, we're in the most horrid position in probably all of human history, but... it's always nice to smile.

Okay, that admittedly didn't make much sense, but that's all I have to work with. And I kind of want a reason to smile.

Back home, before the... event... I would always keep myself happy, doing what I liked, like theatre with a small group of friends, or maybe sketching things on the cement with a piece of charcoal.

But... there's not going to be much to keep me happy here. Sure, the amazing dress I'm wearing—a little skimpy, but that's not too bad—the chariot ride, and the people calling my names are nice, but... It's all so... Facile. Plastic.

Fake.

But what's going on here, on the surface, is definitely better than what we all know is really happening. So... I'll focus on the former for now.

After all, I won't be able to much longer.

I turn my attention back to the crowd, flashing my pearly yellows—yes, I said "pearly yellows"—and waving enough to get my long sleeve settled in bunches on my shoulder. The entirety of the crowd is hollering, and I can't make out individual words most of the time. But I do hear a few calling my name, so I blow off kisses to whoever I know and/or think said it. Can't give me points for accuracy, but oh, well. Hopefully the sponsors aren't grading us on that.

Wouldn't mind if they graded on flowers, though. There are already enough at my feet for a respectable bouquet—if you could call a ramshackle cluster of different-coloured roses, lilies, and some weird, purple-and-yellow flowers, which I think are probably peaceful muttations, respectable—and I've even managed to catch one that was thrown high enough.

I've just realised the horses have stopped, and the chariots have stilled as well. The president, President Snow—who I think is in his thirties—is reading his annual speech, though I don't listen.

Not much for listening to boring things, myself. It's... well, boring.

So, instead, I watch one of the screens mounted at the side of the City Circle. It's cycling between the images of the tributes and that of the president.

Right now it's showing District 6, where the tributes are apparently some sort of hippie doctors. The District 7'ers are, predictably, dressed up as trees. District 8 is in some sort of old-timey costume with richly-textured cloth—and, oddly enough, the two tributes are holding hands. Well, the District 6'ers are, too, but the girl doesn't look so happy about it.

I watch, getting a bit impatient as the camera shot goes over Districts 9 and 10, and then I settle once it finally flickers over to us.

From the angle, you can't tell that much how skimpy our "fruit basket-weaved"—that's what the stylist called it—costumes are, and the pieces of fruit sewn in as decoration shine in the light of the television. My makeup looks surprisingly good, too. I guess the stylists, no matter how all-out weird they act, _do_ know what they're doing.

Then the camera shoots over to District 12, decked in coal dust... and also holding hands.

How many districts _are_ presenting their tributes together?

Despite how weird it probably looks, I crane my neck to look around the chariots.

The Careers from 1 and 2 stand by themselves, but the District 3'ers, while not holding hands, are standing quite close and don't seem hostile or uncaring to each other. The tributes from District 4 and 5 are separate, and the District 6 girl still doesn't look approving of her apparent connection. The boy from 7 has his arm over his district partner's shoulder, the District 8'ers are holding hands and leaning a bit on each other, and the two from 9 are holding hands. The 10'ers are separated, I know Philan and I are connected, and then the two from District 12 are holding hands as well.

...What is this? I've never seen anything like this in the Games before. Do this many tributes really know each other? Maybe from even before they were reaped?

This... This is... horrible. This means that almost _everyone_ here is going to lose someone close in these Games.

And that...

That is nothing to smile about.


	9. Unlikely Companion

Author's Note: Please forgive me if parts of Lude's monologue seem weird. My brain died a little on me here. *sweatdrop*

* * *

**Lude Ermany, District 2**

It is officially the first day in the Training Centre. Being a Career tribute, there is not much I will need to learn here, but I can see the other tributes, those without my experience, committing to memory the skills they are offered.

At the archery station are the 7's, the twelve-year-old girl carefully pulling an arrow back and her district partner watching solemnly.

At the swordfighting station are the 11's, the girl from 6, and the boy from 10. They're all doing fairly well, though they still won't have a chance against the better-trained Careers.

Speaking of which, the Career tribute from 4, Japan, is entering the station himself.

He obviously isn't there to learn, so I imagine he'll be demonstrating the usual Career strategy: intimidation.

And my assumption is correct. Japan's forte is obviously swords, the way he gracefully slices the air with glib strokes.

He will be a welcome ally, though when the time comes to eliminate him, I will not hesitate.

For often in these Games, hesitation means death. And for me, death is not an option. I will return home no matter what the cost.

Because I am a soldier. And true soldiers never surrender—to the enemy, or to death.

I turn my attention back to the training stations. It's about time for me to demonstrate my own abilities for the sake of intimidation. I'll need a weapon I am good with, as well as a big enough crowd watching.

The only station meeting those requirements is maces, so I march over there.

The few tributes there, the 8's and the boy from 12, step aside as I enter. The instructor, knowing my district, skips the lightweight replica of the weaponry and starts me off with the real thing.

I look around the station. There are a few dummies without legs or arms and only held up by metal stands positioned about, and the only other objects in the area are tributes. Considering it's vastly against the rules to target the tributes—as of the next three days, at least—I turn to the dummies.

Snapping my arm back quickly enough to make my weapon look weightless, I grunt, swinging the mace forward and ripping through the threads of the nearest mannequin, sending its yellowish clumps of stuffing flying away.

Though I don't quite turn to see the other tributes, out of the corner of my eye I can see the 12 grimace.

But a frown from one member of the audience isn't enough.

What else could I do here, though, with such limited resources? The only things around are the mannequins and their stands...

I pull my arm back again, then swing hard, aiming a little lower than I had last time. The mace makes a resounding clang against the metal of the stand, and the dummy topples over, revealing a sizeable dent in its iron support.

I rest the dull handle of my weapon on my shoulder and turn to see the tributes' reactions.

The 12 is now trembling, but I can tell he's trying to smother it. The boy from 8 is veritably stunned, while his district partner looks scared.

"Time for lunch!" I turn to see who called—the Capitol official.

Handing the mace back over to the assistant, I file into a line for lunch, gather my food, and seat myself. The other Careers sit next to me, the boy from 1 on one side and the girl from 4 on my other.

"Ve, your name's Lude, right?" I set my fork down and slowly turn behind me to see the boy from 6.

"Yes, that's correct." I turn back to my lunch, but before I can stab more meat onto my fork, I'm interrupted again.

"My name's Ciano!"

"Nice to... meet you," I reply slowly, not sure what I'm supposed to respond with.

"You, too!" There's silence, and I heave an inaudible sigh of relief that he's done. I fork a good bite of chicken, but don't get the chance to stick it in my mouth.

"Wanna be friends?"

What did he just say?

"...What?" I turn around to look back at the kid.

"I said, do you want to be friends?"

"Um..."

The guy from District 1 bursts out laughing. "Seriously? What kind of question is that? You're gonna be out of the competition right after it starts, Ciano!" He keeps laughing, and the few Careers that joined him earlier trail off.

Well, he's not lying. A skinny, perky guy like this isn't going to win the Hunger Games.

"Well, you don't have to ally with me," Ciano starts. "I just wanna be friends."

The 1 boy starts up with another wave of laughter, but I stay silent.

What could possibly be Ciano's motive? He can't seriously _just_ be wanting a friend...

I mean, that kind of thing is useless. I've never needed friends. And I'm perfectly fine with that.

Perfectly... fine...

**Corianne File, District 2**

This Ciano guy's a weirdo. He just introduces himself and asks to be friends with my district partner? All right, kid, I don't know what you're used to, but this is the effing Hunger Games. There _are_ no friends here.

Yup. No friends. Just alliances that shatter at the slightest touch.

"...All right." I look up from my chicken pot pie, confused. Did Lude just say...?

"Ah! Really?" Ciano chirps.

"_Whaaat_?" Alf from 1 responds. "You can't be serious! You wanna be friends with a loser like him?"

"Well, what's the difference?" Lude retorts. "If he's going to be dead in a few days, anyway, what's it matter to you?"

Half of Alf's mouth dips into a quizzical frown, and he doesn't reply.

"Okay! Can I sit here, then?" Ciano asks, putting his lunch tray across from Lude.

"Sure." Lude drums his fingers on the table, with an expression that shows he's not as convinced this "friendship" thing is such a good idea after all.

Ciano dominates the conversation for the rest of lunch, talking about completely random and pointless things. Of course, the Career pack this year doesn't seem like the type to discuss strategy over tea, so what do I care?

It's not like we all don't have the same strategy, anyway. Run around at night to hunt, kill whoever we find whenever we find them, and once the number of tributes is down enough, kill everybody else and go home.

And only one of us will finish that strategy through.

I know it'll be me.

Yeah, yeah, every Career thinks they're going to win, I know. But I have reasons.

One, I'm strong. Alf and Lude have more muscle than me, but that's no problem. I'll just have to figure out a way to make the playing field my advantage.

Two, I'm good with pretty much every weapon. Sure, Japan is a whiz kid with his swords and Lude can put a dent in solid metal with his mace, but if they don't have their weapons of choice, they're not going to do well. "But, of course they'll have their weapons of choice!" you may object. "They have access to the Cornucopia, and their sponsors!" Well, I'll tell you what. While they're asleep and I'm on watch, I have just as much access to their weapons. And when the time comes, those shiny things'll go bye-bye. And I'll be able to use whatever weapons are left. So I win.

Three, I like the Games. Yeah, pretty much every Career tribute does, but why? Because their mommies and daddies said it was cool? Because they want the money, or the fame? Well, I like the Hunger Games because of the slaughter. I may not be some bloodthirsty psycho, but I still think the whole thing's pretty cool. And a sense of joy and purpose is going to help everything.

But, in the end, the reasons don't matter. All that matters is that...

I.

Win.


	10. Flirt

Author's Note: This chapter is a little... different. Hopefully it's not too sappy.

* * *

**Franse Bonnefoy, District 5**

I quite like the Training Centre. The tributes don't get much peaceful interaction besides these three days, so this is the only time I have to get to know my fellow competitors.

...And by "get to know", I mean "flirt with".

I'm certainly not one of those tributes that just woos the ladies for the sake of alliance. No, no, I'm much more genteel than that. I only tell them what they want to hear, and act like any other respectable gentleman.

But should they want to ally with me after that, I certainly won't object.

I'm not going to charm the Career girls—it's likely they'll see my courting as a shallow attempt to make an alliance, and they're generally not the most beautiful, anyway—and I'm not going to flirt with anyone under 14—any gap more than two years is a little much—so that leaves six girls to... acquaint myself with.

And lunch, the perfect opportunity, is arriving now.

I don't take any food for myself yet; it's likely to get in the way, and I'm still not hungry after my massive, Capitol-style breakfast. Instead, I slowly finish up at the station I've occupied, the edible plant station, then head to the tables.

The first acceptable lady I come across is Maria, from District 3.

Yes, I know all the tributes' names. It would be unspeakably rude not to, when I've had the chance.

"Hello, Miss Maria," I start, flashing my winning smile as I slide into the seat next to her.

Maria glances at me, then turns back to her food without any other acknowledgement.

Hm. She'll be a tough one, I'm sure.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your meal, but I... couldn't help but notice how beautiful you look." I smile again.

"Sure." Maria takes a bite of her food, then sets her fork down. "Come talk to me when you're man enough to ditch the girl hair."

"Girl hair?" I squeak reflexively. I-I don't have girl hair! Just because I care to groom my beautiful, blonde locks better than the average man, and just because it's almost shoulder-length—fashionable, I assure you—doesn't make it _girl _hair! "I-I'm afraid you're mista..."

Before I can finish my sentence, Maria's moved. Next to her district partner.

Well... That's one girl I won't be charming.

I shake my head, stand back up, and look for the next belle.

The closest is Peyton, of District 11. She's sitting next to her district partner as well... But that doesn't necessarily mean anything.

I take a seat next to her.

"Hi." She nods at me. "Any particular reason you're sitting here?"

"I just..." I lean in closer to her and drop the volume of my voice a bit, "wanted to make the acquaintance of a beautiful girl."

Peyton pulls back, but has a giggle fit in the process, trying to muffle herself with her hand but failing.

There. A more amicable lady.

I lean back a bit, resting my head on my hands. "Your name is Peyton, non?"

She nods. "And you're... um... Sorry. Wasn't paying much attention..."

I chuckle. "No need to apologize. My name is Franse, and I am—" I take her hand and kiss it—it's a bit old-fashioned, but the ladies never object—"pleased to make your acquaintance."

Peyton giggles again.

"If you don't mind me distracting you from the imminent make-out session, it's about time to start talking strategy."

I turn toward the speaker, Peyton's district partner, who's seated across from us.

"_Our _strategy," he continues, narrowing his eyes at me.

"Philan!" Peyton exclaims. "We weren't going to..." She shakes her head and turns to me. "Sorry, Franse. He's right; we have to get talking."

"Understood," I reply smoothly, maintaining my smile. Ugh. Of course someone has to interfere. But, I still have a lot of ladies to meet, so I might as well continue with that. "I will visit with you later, then, Miss Peyton—that is, if you don't mind."

"I don't," Peyton replies with smile.

"Then I will see you later."

**Wynd Blune, District 5**

My district partner's one weird cookie. He'll tell every girl how amazing she is, apparently without realising it's not as sincere with so many people. I don't know how anyone could fall for him.

I definitely didn't fall for him. At all. Nuh-uh. Nope.

...Not for long, anyway.

I mean, how am I supposed to believe I have his heart when he runs off to flirt with someone else? Ridiculous.

Look at him now. He's finished hitting on two girls and has now moved on to the girl from 8.

Wait... Isn't she wearing an engagement ring...?

Oh, boy. This should be interesting.

I push my food to the side and watch.

"Hello, Miss Veta," Franse purrs, sliding into the seat on her left—her right is taken by her district partner.

"Hi," Veta replies bluntly, not bothering to look over at the newcomer.

Oho. First sign of rejection. But I don't think Franse knows to stop.

"How is the beautiful lady in front of me this fine day?" he continues, flashing his gleaming smile.

Now her district partner is looking pissed. Hey... Is that an engagement ring he's wearing, too?

Oh. O-Oh, crap. They... They aren't... Are they?

I turn back to my food, though my stomach's squirming now.

A fine day! What kind of fine day precedes a bloody competition that-that rips apart a future marriage?

Cr-Crap. The Hunger Games... I always thought the competition was a little, a _little, _mind you, interesting, but... to-to kill people for it? To-to tear apart all these people and their weddings and their friendships and-and-and—

"Don't you _dare_ talk to my fiancé like that!" Veta's sudden roaring jerks me out of my thoughts, and I hear something crash. Looking back toward the table, I see a broken, slimy half-circle in Veta's hands, and little chips of white flying through the air. Franse is freaking out, saying something about his "beautiful, silky hair", and scrabbling his hands through his hair, which is sprayed with more of the white shards as well as something mushy that was probably once chicken pot pie. A few guards are rushing in, restraining Veta, who's still raging.

"Let me go!" she protests loudly. "I'm going to freaking _kill him_!"

"Well, wait a few days, and you can," one of the guards growls. "But no fighting is allowed in the Training Centre."

Veta snarls, but she's stopped trying to throw off the guards. I guess the thought of being encouraged to kill Franse later brought her back to the situation at hand.

"Don't you _ever _talk to Austria like he doesn't deserve me," she spits at Franse, who's gotten just enough crap out of his hair to pay attention.

"I wasn't... I wasn't implying that," Franse defends breathlessly. "I..."

"Shut up!"

Franse complies.

Well, that was... interesting. I bet things like that don't happen every year.

But, how would I know? They don't televise what goes on here, or if they do, I've never bothered to watch. All they show is the beautiful chariot ride and the magnificent costumes and the charming interviews... And then they cut straight to the violent, bloody Cornucopia race.

I don't understand any of this. Why would people want to watch how beautiful the districtgoers can be, and how human they really are, only to cheer for whoever brings their deaths?

Like I said, the competition is kind of interesting. The shifting alliances, how only one can be left standing... But why does it _literally_ have to be the last one standing? Why do innocent lives have to be ripped away from their families, their horrible deaths televised to traumatise their loved ones more?

None of it makes sense. None of it at all.

The only thing I know is that, in a few days, I'm going to be in the running. I'm going to be in that competition.

And, more likely than not...

I won't be the last one standing.


	11. Adopted

Author's Note: Ohhhhh, Caesar's hard to write for. -.- Forgive me if he sounds like an idiot.

* * *

**Switz Wingly, District 7**

It's time to get dressed up for the interview. The stylists surrounding me are clamouring about what angle I should go for—the tough guy, or silent and strong, or friendly and likable—but in the end, the head stylist will decide with his costume choice.

I think I could adapt to any of them for the interview. Whatever it ends up being'll probably fall to pieces once I step into the arena, though.

I'm not sure what natural angle I would have. All I an think of is something along the lines of "the protective big brother", but I'm not all sure how that'd pan out. If Caesar Flickerman asks all the questions right, sure, that'd work, get some sympathies for me and my little sister in the arena.

My little sister. No tessarae, only twelve years old... I can't believe she was reaped.

And I wasn't.

* * *

_"And our female tribute is... Liet Wingly!"_

_I stare up at the stage, dumbfounded, as my little sister makes her way to stand next to the other tribute._

_"Any volunteers?"_

_"I volunteer for male tribute!" I shout, making my way to the stage._

_"Um," the escort starts, "we've already called for male volunteers..."_

_"Well, if you'd rather dress me up in drag and pass me off for a female tribute, try that," I spit. "But if you don't think that'd fool the Capitol, let me be the male tribute."_

_"Um... This is all quite unconventional..."_

_I glare._

_"A-All right! We... We have a volunteer for male tribute, then?"_

* * *

I know I'm going to die because of that. But... that's okay. If that's the only way I can keep Liet alive, then fine. I'll be in the Capitol's little game. But I won't play by their rules. Because I won't be fighting for _my _life.

I've already fought hard for her to keep her alive, and I'm not going to stop now.

Some people probably think it's a little weird, that I'd go so far for a sister who's not even any sort of blood relative. But... that doesn't matter. Since that day I found her, with no home to shelter herself from the rain, she's been my sister. And I've been looking out for her like any big brother would.

"Yay!" suddenly exclaims one of the assistant stylists, making me jump. "He's here!"

By "he", I'm guessing she means the head stylist. The assistants are filing to the side of the room now, and, after a few moments of silence, the head stylist walks in, a garment bag slung over his shoulder.

"Evening, Switz," he says, like we're old buddies or something. "Are you ready for your outfit?"

"Sure, why not." I'm not exactly as tickled as he wants me to be. Ooh, a pretty costume to wear. Whoop-de-do.

The stylist nods, pulling something out of the bag and putting it on me himself—_that's _not creepy at all—before backing up. He keeps jumping back in to adjust the collar or something, but after about five minutes of annoying me with this, he's done.

"What do you think?" he asks, pulling away so I can see my reflection in the mirror.

I'm in a simple, brown, tweed business suit, with a plain white shirt underneath the jacket. I'm also wearing some discreet heels—the Capitolgoers think it's right to dress a guy in heels? Seriously?—that are the same light brown as the suit.

"I think it's a little tight," I answer, tugging at one of the sleeves that's clinging tightly to my arm.

"Oh, it's supposed to be that way!" the stylist responds. "We decided to dress you and your sister in matching outfits, but exaggerate your sizes a bit. She'll be in an oversized suit, and you're in a slightly-undersized one."

Slightly? This thing feels like it's going to pop off me the second I sit down.

But okay. I'll play along for now.

What else can I do?

**Liet Wingly, District 7**

I follow the line of tributes out of the elevator nervously. The interviews are going to start right after we've all sat down.

_If _we all sit down. There are so many bright lights shining on us as we come out onto the stage, I'm about blinded. If the stylists had made me wear heels instead of flats, I would have probably tripped over something by now.

But, luckily, I stumble my way to my seat all right, and Switz is still right behind me.

All the tributes have sat down, so the host Caesar starts telling a few jokes. The audience thinks they're funny, but I don't understand any of them. Maybe it's a Capitol thing.

But soon enough, he's started to interview the tributes, starting with the girl from District 1, Vivi. I listen for a while, but... she says something really scary, so I don't listen any more.

After a while, her buzzer rings, and her district partner steps up to his interview. I don't listen to him, either. I mean, I'm not really going to hear anything useful, right? So I don't need to risk hearing something else scary.

I just kind of tune everyone out and wait for the buzzers. _Bzz_. District 1 is finished._ Bzz. Bzz. _District 2 is done.

So I sit there, legs crossed, one of my feet bouncing, and count the buzzers. Five, six, seven, eight. We're past District 4. Nine, ten, eleven. Now the boy from 6 is up.

I'm next.

My foot bounces a little quicker, and I try to keep my heart from pounding, but it's not working very well. I'm next. I've never been in a real interview—except for what the mentors ran me through earlier today—and I don't think I've ever been onstage before, either.

_Bzz._

It's my turn now!

I jump up from my seat, and then hear my name called. I scamper over to Caesar's side, adjusting my collar nervously, though it doesn't need to be fixed.

"So, Liet," he starts, a smile on his pastel yellow lips, "you're our youngest tribute this year. How do you think you'll do in the arena?"

"How I'll do?" I echo, fumbling with my collar more.

"Hmm... That _is _a pretty vague question, isn't it?" Caesar turns away from me and toward the audience for a second. "Ten years of this job, and I _still _don't have it down yet!"

He pauses to let the audience laugh, and I use the time to take a deep breath. Just stay calm. You don't want to look too nervous.

Even if you are.

Caesar's turned back to me now. "Let me rephrase that: What do you think... is your greatest strength in the arena?"

"U-Um..." I flick the collar between my fingers. "My brother?"

It's no sooner out of my mouth before a new wave of laughter comes from the audience. My cheeks redden, and I stare at my shoes.

"Hey, sounds like a strength to me," Caesar responds.

I dare to look back up. The Capitol audience has settled down a bit, so I don't look back down at my feet.

"So, I hear your brother's not actually related to you," Caesar starts. "Is that true?"

"Um, yes," I reply. Good. An easy question. "But he's still my brother."

"I wouldn't question it."

"Good."

The audience laughs again, and I shoot a glance back at Switz. He's watching, but his eyes have that unreadable expression to them.

A lot like... The first day I saw him.

* * *

_The rain is falling hard, seeping its cold, sharp fingers through my thin clothes and into my flesh. I try to keep walking, in the hope I'll find shelter somewhere, but I'm too tired. When was the last meal I had? I'm not sure._

_I collapse against a wall, and slide down until I'm sitting on the wet, mushy ground._

_I'm so tired. I want to go to sleep, but I'm scared. Scared that if I do, I might not wake back up._

_I close my eyes, anyway._

_"Hey, you."_

_I reopen my eyes slowly, looking up at the speaker: a lone boy, staring down at me, who looks at least fourteen._

_"Are you all right?"_

_"N-No," I whisper back. "N-Not really."_

_"What are you doing out in the rain? Do you... have anywhere to go?"_

_"No... I-I went to the orphanage, but they said there was no room... They were only accepting children old enough to sign up for tessarae..."_

_The boy continues to stare at me, unreadable expression in his eyes._

_Then he extends a hand to me. I reach to take it, and he pulls me up._

_"There's room at my house. You can stay a little while, at least..."_


	12. Confidence

Author's Note: Next chapter, the Games begin! Ya-ha! *does a happy dance*

Since the chapters here are a little short, there's a chance the bloodbath'll be two chapters. But I don't know for sure yet.

To APH fans: Heeeeere's Prussia! I'm not very good with keeping him IC, admittedly, but hopefully he's still all right.

And a thank you to my loyal reviewers! You always make my day. :)

* * *

**Gil Prus, District 10**

I'm gonna be so cool today. Especially when my only competition is... these other guys. They're not gonna get _any_ sponsors with _their_ bad acting.

I mean, everyone has an angle for the interviews, and half of them don't even fit.

The girl from 1's supposed to be the quiet psychopath—yeah, if you saw her shrieking in the Training Centre like I did, you definitely wouldn't believe that—and the boy's supposed to be the cocky muscleman—I think he's more of a cocky idiot.

The District 2 girl's supposed to be the sexy one—even though her face makes me wanna barf—and the guy's hectoring the crowd—probably supposed to be some weirdo soldier/commander/something.

The girl from District 3's supposed to be sly—even though she's more bratty than sly—and her district partner's just quiet—which actually fits him somewhat, but it's not gonna score him any sponsors, the idiot.

The chick from 4's supposed to be some sort of brooding monster—she just sounds like a shallow, lazy slut—and the guy is some kind of serious ninja/warrior/something—which'll get some sponsors, if the audience is dumb enough to fall for his acting.

From 5, the girl's just some bubbly, hyper chick who doesn't know what she's babbling about—it fits her, though—and the guy's some charmer—more like a stalker.

The District 6 girl is pulling some sort of friendly-but-deadly angle—which is a total lie, because she's just a freako loner—and the guy's supposed to be the cute and loveable one—which is kinda okay, since he looks enough like a girl to be cute, but it's not gonna get any sponsors when there's actually another cute little girl in the competition.

Speaking of which, the girl from 7 is supposed to be the shy and cute one—which, I guess, works, if people are willing to throw their money to someone who's not gonna win—and the boy can't decide whether he's the loving big brother or the vicious killer—being too stupid to figure out an angle isn't gonna get _him_ any sponsors, either.

The 8 chick and the 8 guy are pulling some irritating, lovers act—even though it's completely stupid, I bet everyone's going to be pouring their stupid money into _that_ stupid tragedy. District 9 is a sibling pair, but they're both too boring to score any sponsors.

Then comes my district partner. She's going for some sort of humble girl with the guerdon of her loving family when she gets back home and blah, blah, blah. I'm about to get bored to death, when, suddenly, she starts breathing funny and coughing. Caesar gives her a weird look and backs off some—he'd been leaning in close to ask some question I wasn't paying attention to—but she keeps hacking. Her hands are shaking so hard she can't get them into her pocket for a good couple of seconds. Just as Caesar's starting to sweat, she pulls out something and jams it in her mouth, then takes a deep breath. She shoves the thing back in her pocket and laughs weakly.

What? She has a freaking _inhaler_?

Oh, this is too good. Since my competition's apparently not made of enough losers, this chick has to use an _inhaler_. Wow. These guys are so pathetic.

Guess that just makes _me _look that much more awesome.

**Eudocia Conc, District 10**

No! This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to happen! Nobody-Nobody was supposed to know about my asthma. I was so careful, every time the cameras were on, but... I just blew it. I just blew all my chances of getting sponsored. I thought maybe, maybe if none of the Capitolgoers know until after the competition starts, I'll already have enough donors to get through the first couple of days. Then they'd see that I could survive even with my condition.

But no. That idea's doomed and crushed to pieces now. Everyone out there knows I need my inhaler. And now no one's going to think I'm capable of winning, no one's going to care any more that I'm descended from one of the victors.

The victor was my grandfather, Rowan Conc—if you must know—who won the 12th Hunger Games spectacularly.

But it sure doesn't look like his granddaughter's going to carry on his legacy now. Oh, no. That girl, that can't even breathe without help? How is _she _supposed to win a fight to the death?

"Well..." Caesar starts, forcing me to turn my attention back to him. "Ladies _have_ told me before that I take their breath away, but _this_ is new!"

The audience roars in laughter, a couple of the girls screaming out proclamations of love to Caesar, who shoots them a couple of winks before turning back to interview me.

"S-Sorry about that," I start, trying to stop shaking. "I, um, I'm allergic to that flower you're wearing," I say, motioning to the yellow flower pinned to his tuxedo.

That's not a lie, really. The next thing I say is, though.

"It's about the only thing I'm allergic to, luckily."

Yeah, sure. I'm allergic to pretty much every kind of flower, tree, weed, and grass that's out there. But there's no need to make _that_ public.

"Oh, I see," Caesar replies, removing the flower from his front pocket and holding it up to his nose. "Actually, I think a lot of people are allergic to thi—Ah-ah-atchoo!" He sneezes loudly, though it's pretty obvious he's faking it. He feigns sniffling as he waits for the new wave of laughter to calm down, and then goes back to interviewing me, the flower kept a safe distance away.

The rest of the interview goes pretty well, but that doesn't matter. The interviews are for securing sponsors, but all I've done is lost them.

Darn it! How am I going to win the Hunger Games without sponsors? I... I thought for sure I'd have enough to get me water, or food, or maybe even a weapon, but now that plan's foiled.

I'll just have to rely on what I've learnt in the Training Centre. That's... throwing spears that I'm certainly not going to get my hands on, fishing for food that may not even be in the arena, and building a water filter whose materials probably won't be available.

That's all I have to lean on. It's not like I learnt anything at home. I could barely stand to step outside for a few minutes, let alone figure out how to survive in nature. I couldn't even get a normal District 10 job with my condition, so I just worked odd jobs at the rotten-smelling tannery.

And I had to do a lot of that. My asthma medication easily bankrupted my family, so I had to do as much work myself as possible. Everyone pitched in, but, since it's my fault—and don't you dare argue with me that it isn't—I always laboured extra hard, taking any jobs I could take that didn't involve going outdoors. It didn't matter how hard it was, how long it took, or how the pay was. If I could make some extra money to put away that debt, I would do it.

But... it never panned out. I'm only thirteen still, and there was only so much of a workload I could hold. My family was reduced to one meal a day, and sometimes not even that. We practically wore rags, which were completely horrible when my parents and brothers had to go out in the winter to manage the cattle.

And we all knew we weren't going to dig ourselves out of that hole any time soon. We didn't even know if we could make it out.

But... The Hunger Games rolled around. And... if I were to win, we would finally have enough money to pay for my medicine, to eat real meals, and to wear real clothes. And... if I were to lose...

They wouldn't have to pay for my medication any more.

Either way was feasible. I convinced myself the first option _would _become reality, but now...

I'm sure it's the second.


	13. Shattered Fantasies

Author's Note: I figured figuring them out was part of the fun, but since everyone's always asking me which character is which, I'll put a list up.

Alf Meric D1 16 (America)  
Vivi Daley D1 15 (OC)  
Lude Ermany D2 17 (Germany)  
Corianne File D2 15 (OC)  
Thew Canda D3 16 (Canada)  
Maria Carriedo D3 15 (OC Mexico)  
Japan Hond D4 17 (Japan)  
Chia Mendel D4 16 (OC)  
Franse Bonnefoy D5 16 (France)  
Wynd Blune D5 15 (OC)  
Ciano Idalya D6 15 (N. Italy)  
Tiee Bongiovi D6 14 (OC)  
Switz Wingly D7 18 (Switzerland)  
Liet Wingly D7 12 (Liechtenstein)  
Austria Edel D8 18 (Austria)  
Veta Ungar D8 18 (Hungary)  
Russia Bragins D9 15 (Russia)  
Ukraine Bragins D9 18 (Ukraine)  
Gil Prus D10 17 (Prussia)  
Eudocia Conc D10 13 (OC)  
Philan Visce D11 15 (OC)  
Peyton Unbi D11 15 (OC)  
Toris Lithu D12 14 (Lithuania)  
Poal Feliks D12 13 (Poland)

Recommended Listening: After the Fall by Journey (Of course the first song I recommend is by Journey.)

* * *

**Wynd Blune, District 5**

The clothes for the arena are actually pretty plain this year. A pair of khaki pants that can be turned into shorts with the swipe of a zipper; a pair of thick socks under dark brown tennis shoes with hard rubber soles; a white tank top; and a grey, hoodless, papery jacket that zips up all the way.

Makes me wonder exactly what the arena could be... But, as always, I have no clue.

And, before I can get another thought through my head, I'm pointed to the Launch Room's platform.

I step onto it, and a glass tube closes down around me. Unable to help getting a little claustrophobic, I make myself take slow, deep breaths as the platform starts to ascend.

All right, Hunger Games. Here I come.

**Switz Wingly, District 7**

As the platform underneath me begins to rise, the light from the Launch Room is abruptly cut off. I'm sure a good half-minute passes before I start to catch light seeping back in, and then I'm suddenly thrust into vivid daylight. The change is so abrupt I have to rub my eyes from the sun's glare. Even when I take my hands away, there's an odd moment of blindness, where I can only feel a sharp wind and hear someone's amplified breath.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 43rd Hunger Games begin!" the announcer, whose name I don't care to remember, booms.

I furiously blink the spots out of my eyes and finally start to make out a blurry, shining Cornucopia ahead of me. My vision clears more, and I start to take in more of the surroundings. The Cornucopia's situated on a lush carpet of grass, which stretches outward to the circle of tributes. It continues past us, leading to a circle of hedges dotted with brightly-coloured flowers and berries. And beyond the hedges...

I have to stifle a laugh. Perfect. Perfect! Of all the environments the Gamemakers could have chosen, they picked this. An environment I've ventured out to in every patch of free time, an environment I've hiked through more times than I can count.

A mountain.

**Corianne File, District 2**

This is one freaking weird arena. At first, I think I'm in some giant meadow, then I realise the meadow doesn't go on for long. It's in some sort of five-foot-deep crater, which is, in turn, in the side of a mountain.

A _mountain_? What kind of Hunger Games would give kids nothing but a mountain and a little circle of a meadow to survive in? That wouldn't last long enough for anything interesting.

So, there's got to be something else planned, grottoes with food, trees, something.

I crane my neck to look up the mountain, and, as I thought, there's more to it. To my right, there's another crater, but its walls are as steep as this one's, so I can't see what's inside.

I imagine those are probably all over the mountain.

There. That makes more sense.

And just as I figure that, the gong sounds.

**Tiee Bongiovi, District 6**

The sixty seconds are up, and I do not hesitate. I have to get to the Cornucopia and snag a good weapon. Because weapons are _not_ cheap, so I'm likely to get them from sponsors.

Taking off from my platform, I pelt for the only weapon I can see at the front of the Cornucopia: a decent-sized cleaver. It's right at the brim of the golden horn, its very tip sunken into the ground. I screech to a halt and dip down to retrieive it, snagging its handle in three fingers, then pull.

It's stuck.

I realise this, and let go. I can't stay here; I know someone must be—

My head suddenly explodes in pain, and I collapse to the ground. My left eye's vision is besieged by flashes of light, and my right eye's been pushed into the grass, so I can't see.

Someone's here. A Career!

I hear the crunch of grass by my ear.

Where-where was that cleaver?

I splay my arms out, searching frantically for the handle, but shriek when someone stomps on my back hard enough to break it.

N-no!

My hand squirms around, trying to locate the cleaver, but I can't find it before I feel something smash hard into the back of my skull.

My limited vision instantly goes back, but the searing, choppy waves of pain hardly fade.

Crap. I... thought I could survive, but... I won't. There's no chance of that anymore.

So, someone, please... just... just make the pain stop...

...

I get my wish.

**Maria Carriedo, District 3**

The gong has sounded, and I am getting the heck out of here, _now_.

I spin, facing the hedges, and run. There's not much ground to cover between here and there. I'll just have to jump over the bushes, run a little more, and scale that wall of rock. That won't be hard, since it's about a foot shorter than me.

I'm coming up to the hedges now, and, without slowing my pace, I leap.

And something pulls me back.

I dig my heels into the ground, but I'm still spun around.

I've been caught by a Career.

And that means I'm going to die.

"Mom! Dad! Spain!" I get out that much before the Career slams me to the ground, knocking my breath away. I gasp in more air hurriedly. This girl's going to kill me, but she is _not_ going to deprive me of my last words. "I love you!" I shout before I get a bone-breaking kick to the ribs. "Don't-don't get depressed about me!" I gasp, hardly able to breathe through the pain.

I'm dealt another blow, crunching more of my ribs, closer to my heart.

It's hard to breathe in. The taste of blood has already soaked my mouth, and every gasping breath shoots daggers through my nerves.

I haven't been hit in a couple of seconds, and I know the Career's preparing for the final blow. So I grit my teeth, inhale, and scream my last words.

"I'll see you all in heaven!"

Another sharp blow to the ribs, and I shriek. My blood's everywhere, my heart's berserk thudding is dulling, and I can't breathe in anymore.

Everything dulls, the light, the sound, the pain...

I think I might have managed a smile just before everything disappears.

**Eudocia Conc, District 10**

I have no chance anywhere near the Cornucopia, so I run the other way.

Running. I've never been any good at it, since my asthma always kept me from doing, say, wind sprints.

But it doesn't matter if I do it with class or not. I just have to get out of here.

I'm doing pretty well—I end up running dangerously close to another girl, but she's... snatched away...

I gulp and close my eyes for a second, not wanting to freak myself out. It doesn't matter what happens to anyone else right now. You are the only one that matters. You are the one who has to get away.

I reach the hedge without intrusion, and it looks like whoever attacked my neighbour is still busy.

Thanks, whoever you are. Now I might just be able to get out of here.

I almost laugh in success, but I only get out a wheeze.

No! Anywhere but here!

I can feel my airways closing up on me, so I reach for my inhaler.

What caused this? I was running, but...

And then I see it. Right in front of me.

That bright, yellow flower, same as the one that was pinned to Caesar's jacket last night.

I fumble with my inhaler, standing still because I don't have enough oxygen to keep running. I get my medication to my lips—

And it's promptly snatched away.

I spin around to face the culprit—the Career, Corianne—and reach for the inhaler, but she holds it higher than I can reach.

"This is one easy kill," she says with a smirk, as I collapse against the bushes, trying to suck in air.

But I can't get anything through, no matter how hard I try to gasp, and everything grows fuzzy before fading to black.


	14. No Heroes

Recommended Listening: Paranoid by Ozzy Osbourne

* * *

**Philan Visce, District 11**

By the time the gong sounds, I've decided to run for a pot of food that's not too far away. I'm a good enough runner, and it looks like food'll be hard to come by here.

I leave the plate running, grass cushioning my steps. Bypassing a thin jacket and some sort of empty container, I screech to a halt at the stewpot, pick it up, turn around, and run.

The girl from 4 is right in front of me.

Cursing, I pivot and take an angle, and I'm just able to overtake her without getting run through by her sword. Running faster than I could ever manage without this level of adrenaline, I go past the supplies I passed, running for the bushes and the mountain beyond—

A blade rips across my back, tearing through flesh and muscle, and my knees buckle beneath me. The pot crashes to the ground as I try to shove the pain aside. This is no time to stop! I have to go!

I get back to my feet, but Chia's still here, and her sword cuts my jugular before I can get away.

There's no chance I'm going to make it out of this. These are my last moments.

But I might as well take someone with me.

**Chia Mendel, District 4**

Once I give the 11 guy the fatal strike, I glance over the rest of the area. The other Careers look like have their own kills handled, at least. But that 12 boy's still close enough for me to get, so it's time to get back to work.

I take a step towards him, but my sword's stuck. In the corpse? Weird. It's not like I stabbed him in the chest or anything...

When I check, I find the tip of my sword is actually in the 11's grasp, and if the glare's anything to go by, he's still alive. I can't quite pull the blade out of his hands, I decide to wait. He only has, like, two seconds, and I can run fast enough to make up for it. The Twelve's not that far yet, right?

I look to check, but suddenly my sword is ripped from my grasp. My gaze snaps back down to the boy who's supposed to be dead already, but the blade is already being shoved into my thigh. I kick him away and take my sword out, shoving it between his ribs, but there's suddenly a lot more blood coming out of me than there should be, and I get lightheaded.

What...? No way. Did he hit my femoral...?

I fall to the ground, my legs unable to support me, and the world starts to throb in and out of focus. So I'm going to bleed out...? No, I-I can't die here! I'm supposed to win! I...

I guess my parents were wrong. I'm...

Just an ordinary tribute...

Slated for death...

After all.

**Peyton Unbi, District 11**

I don't dare to approach the Cornucopia when the gong sounds. I run away, straight for the bushes and the ridge after them. I'll meet up with Philan later. There's not enough time now. We'll at least have to get onto the stones first.

While I'm running, I go ahead and risk a look back to see where he is.

I immediately wish I hadn't.

Philan is just inside the circle of starting plates, on the ground. The Career behind him, just as I turn to look, runs her sword through his heart.

There's no question about it. He's dead.

Feeling like I'm going to throw up, I turn my head back around and keep running. I'm almost to the bushes, so if I can just... Oh, Philan...

And suddenly there's a blade between my ribs.

Letting out a gurgling scream, I stumble, but I make myself keep running. The blade slides back out, and it's getting harder to breathe, but I'm still alive.

Another stab. I fall to the ground this time, now seeing that my attacker is Vivi. She could have killed me by now... Why wasn't she just aiming for my heart? Are you just trying to make me suffer? ...If so, you're doing a good job.

I wriggle back to my feet, and it takes all of my effort, but I manage it. I can't run any further, and all I can do is pant and stare at Vivi, who's grinning maliciously.

"Oh, no more screaming? I guess I'm not going to get that much fun out of you after all." Her eyes flare wide, and she pulls her arm back. "_Goodbye_!" She thrusts her sickle through my ribs again, this time hitting my heart. When I fall down, I don't even try to get back up.

So I die here... Kind of funny, in a way. Philan and I were born on the same day...

And it looks like we'll die on the same day, too.

**Wynd Blune, District 5**

So, I figured I wasn't going to risk the Cornucopia, no way, too dangerous, too many people with pointy things, and yeah. But. There's a good loaf of bread pretty close by, and I kind of need food to live and all, so I figure it's worth it.

The gong sounds, and I blast off running. With my speed—yes, there have been plenty of "run like the Wynd" jokes back home—I'm to the bread in a second. I snatch it up and turn around and run for it again. I get to the rock wall without pause, and then I have to stop because, well, there's a wall. It's too tall to jump, so I tuck my bread under my armpit—kinda gross, but kinda necessary—and try to pull myself up. Considering my sort-of total lack of upper body strength, I shouldn't be so surprised I'm not making progress.

Before I'm quite sure what's happening, a shadow falls over me.

Something just starts to crush into my skull, sending shock waves of pain through my head, before everything suddenly goes black.

**Franse Bonnefoy, District 5**

I hear the gong, but I can't move right away. I... I just know I'm not going to make it out of this. I've had my fun, but the Games are here, and I'm going to die.

As I stand here, I can see those I had charmed and truly been charmed by being beaten, being killed. Why must they die? They shouldn't die, any of them... I should do something... But what...? How could I possibly help?

I see Wynd. She's still alive, running away, and it looks as if she's certainly going to get away when she's unable to pull herself over the wall.

And that's when Alf spots her.

He starts running, and with another shuddering breath, I go after him. I'm going to die, but I might as well make a difference. I will not let him kill Wynd.

With a yell, I jump and tackle Alf, though with the difference in our weights it doesn't knock him down. So I just cling, flailing around, trying to be as distracting as possible. Alf's immobilized for a second, but then he reaches up, grabs my arm, and snaps it, pulling me down in the process.

I scream in pain, trying to attack again, but I can't manage it. Too soon, Alf has a hand on my shoulder and another on my head, ready to twist.

Wynd hasn't quite made it yet. Hurry, please hurry. You have to get out. At least you...

I try to hit Alf, to buy some few more seconds, but I'm too weak. I can't help any more. I can only pray.

Alf snaps my neck.


	15. The Climb Begins

Author's Note: Review, please? I really love reviews. *puppy dog eyes*

Recommended Listening: Keep on Running by Journey

* * *

**Liet Wingly, District 7**

The gong sounds before I can find my brother. I only know he's not close to my left or close to my right, so he must be across, behind the Cornucopia.

But I can't get across. Switz told me that, whatever I do, I'm not supposed to go to the Cornucopia.

But... what _am_ I supposed to do? Run away? Wait here?

"Liet!"

I snap my head to the side, where I can just see my brother running out from somewhere behind the golden horn.

"Get ready to jump on my back!"

"Okay!" I call back, relieved I ended up picking the right choice after all.

Switz pelts toward me at top speed, not slowing down even when he lowers his hand to snatch a small backpack off the ground. But he screeches to a halt right next to me, quickly kneeling so I can get to his back, and I scurry over, flinging my arms around his neck, before he bolts off again.

We're past the bushes before I can blink, and to the rocky wall, whose jagged top looks like an outline of another couple of mountains, a second later. Switz slams his hands onto the ridge, then heaves us over the top all the way to his waist. Still gripping the wall, he rolls the rest of the way over until his feet meet the ground again, then jumps back up and continues running.

I take a glance back toward the insular meadow and instantly regret it. People—no, cadavers—are already lying in puddles of blood, and the sight of it all makes me feel sick, so I turn again toward the back of my brother's head. I shrug my right shoulder—the backpack Switz had swung over his arm keeps batting at me there—and hang on tight.

**Thew Canda, District 3**

Maria is dead. We... were going to be allies; we decided for sure that last day in the Training Centre.

But when the Career from 2 attacked her, the alliance was as good as gone.

There was no way to save her. I couldn't overpower a Career with my bare hands, and there was no time to grab anything from the Cornucopia. Maria was a dead woman the second Corianne set sights on her.

So, the competition's only just begun, and I'm already on my own.

I had grabbed the closest of the scattered survival tools—a pair of cloth-lined, leather-covered gloves—but that's all I have. Just gloves. While there's no doubt they'll be useful when climbing over rough stones, they won't feed me. They won't protect me from the other tributes. They won't do anything but keep a few scrapes and scratches off my hands.

But I guess they're doing a good job of that. I've gotten a good ten metres between me and the Cornucopia, and it doesn't look like anyone's followed me.

I bet, if she hadn't been on the platform next to a Career, Maria would have been safe here, too. We'd both be as silent as I am now, since we're still not beyond detection, but, once we got far enough away, we'd talk. About the arena. About our loot, my gloves and whatever she may have gotten. About ourselves, our alliance, our future...

Well, it wouldn't be much of a future. Maybe we did fall for each other, at least a little bit, but whatever our relationship, it would still be torn to shreds by the Games.

In that way, I guess I'm grateful she was taken away so early. That we never had the chance to get to know each other beyond a few favourite foods and pet peeves.

...What a horrible place. Where all I can find to be grateful for is that my friend is already dead.

I can't even describe the intemperate hatred I have for the Hunger Games.

**Alf Meric, District 1**

I lean back against the Cornucopia, while Corianne picks out the last of the supplies there.

"Well, looks like that's the bloodbath for this year," I yawn. "Not as many kills as I expected, but that's all right. We'll get some later."

"Maybe you could have gotten more kills," Lude starts in a fierce monotone, "if you hadn't decided to find something to _eat_ before you started fighting."

"What? I was hungry." Lude glares, but I shrug it off. He's just a nitpicking killjoy, is what he is. No fun, at all.

My district partner is a little better, but... I look over toward the edge of the grassy field and find her.

"Vivi! Will you quit mutilating the corpse? I admire your kill, but you're just being creepy now."

Vivi frowns and digs her bloody scythe and hands out of what was once Peyton.

Yech. Like, I said, creeee-py. Oh, well.

"Hey..." I start, thinking about the moments of the bloodbath. "Did that dorky Ciano kid get away?"

"I believe so," Japan replies quietly, surveying the mountainside.

I look over myself. There's not much to see from here, just a fake-looking, grey mountain, some crater high above with something dark green in it, and...

"What the?" I stand up, squinting at the figure I saw.

"What is it?" Lude grunts, tracing my gaze and turning toward the tribute in sight.

"Ciano's halfway up the _freaking mountain_!" I stomp over to the edge of the bushes and crane my neck to see. Yup. That is _definitely _that girly boy scrambling up the mountain like... like something that climbs up mountains _really fast_.

Lude grunts again, sounding vaguely surprised, before returning to packing up food with Corianne's help.

"How the..." I splutter. "How is some scrawny little runt like him... What the _heck_?"

"Maybe he's used to climbing mountains?" Corianne suggests in a tone that clearly says she doesn't care.

"Yeah, he's used to climbing up mountains; you can tell from all his muscles!" I respond. Corianne rolls her eyes.

I turn back to the mountain, where Ciano's only made more progress. "How in the..."

"If you don't mind," Japan interrupts, "I'd say it's about time we move out and find a place to camp." He motions to Lude and Corianne, who have already packed up the food, and Vivi, who's collected the weapons no one claimed as well as the medical supplies.

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

**Ukraine Bragins, District 9**

"How long are we going to keep running?" my brother pants, holding tight to my hand.

"Until we have some sort of cover," I reply, about as winded as he is. I don't want to keep running, I don't want to keep climbing, but I have to. Because if Russia and I are going to survive, we're going to have to do it stealthily. Neither of us is that strong—Russia, despite being younger than most of the other tributes, is the tallest, but that's not much of an advantage—and neither of us managed to get a weapon before fleeing the meadow area.

So, since we can't fight, we hide. Makes sense, right?

But it's pretty easy to regret my decision when neither of us can run and clamber around these rocks for long. Russia never had need to work out, and, while I've lifted a few dusty weights, I am _not _made for running. With my all-but-nonexistent leg muscles and my way-_over_-existent buxom, I am not a running machine.

But that doesn't matter. Because if we want to live, we'll have to run day in and day out.

It'll royally suck, but we'll survive.

Hopefully.

**Gil Prus, District 10**

I was so awesome at the bloodbath. Sure, I didn't kill anybody, but I don't need to do that just yet. What's important is, I got a weapon, and I got out without a scratch. I finger the handle of my knife—a pretty decent-sized one, too, one that'll be easy to work with—and continue around the mountain.

Don't know where I'm going, but oh, well. Wherever I'm heading, I'm kicking tail.


	16. Finding Alliances

Recommended Listening: Come Together by The Beatles

* * *

**Austria Edel, District 8**

I don't know where Veta is.

We had agreed beforehand, that if we weren't close when the starting gong boomed, we wouldn't try to find each other. It's too risky going close to the Cornucopia, and we'll probably find each other elsewhere in the playing field, anyway.

At least, that's what we thought before we knew the arena.

Now I'm not so sure. My frame is not one suited to climbing around mountains, so it's more likely Veta will have to find me.

While staying near the starting area may have helped her find me, it would have the same effect on the Careers, who are out to kill me.

Needless to say, I did not take that chance.

Of course, clambering around these rocks―or, more accurately, _attempting_ to clamber around these rocks―is not that great of an option, either. But it's still less likely to get me killed, and more likely to help me get to actual shelter, like what that meadow would be in the absence of a Cornucopia.

I wonder how many of those shelters are here. I'm assuming they're all in the same sort of crater as the meadow, considering I've yet to see anything more than outcroppings thus far. But what is in those craters? More meadows? More rocks? I won't know until I find one. And, at my snailish pace, that won't be anytime soon.

As soon as I think that, my hand meets a sharp ridge, similar to the one fencing in the meadow. It cuts through my hand, but I'm too anxious for the pain to get to me much. I throw my arm over the ledge, hooking it under my elbow and scrabbling my feet on the side of the smooth rock until I'm halfway over. I roll the rest of the way, and my feet meet...

Water.

My hands cling tight to the ledge―though the cut one is starting to hurt now―as I stare over the new environment. It's as circular as the meadow, and just as large, if not larger. A small band of pebbles adorns the outside edge, then soon gives in to a lake of clear blue water, motionless save for the lone ripple my feet caused. There's no motion or shadows underneath the surface, and nothing is above the surface save for a lone, broken-down half-bridge of wood. I think it―which is only a metre away from me―is called a pier, but, being from District 8 and not 4, I wouldn't know.

"Are you sure I'm not too heavy?"

A voice jerks me out of my observation, and I look around, but don't see anyone. But can anyone see me?

After a moment of hesitation, I let go of the ledge and teeter along the edging of pebbles until I'm to the pier. I have to duck under, since it's not far above the shore, and I start to slip on the only ground this place has. But I can't move out, since I have to idea whether the voice I heard was of a wandering tribute or an itinerate Career. So my feet keep sliding until my shoes and everywhere below my knees is underwater. Then I'm able to be in a more stable sitting position, though the freezing-cold water soaks through my pants here.

Now that I'm safely hidden, I tune the voices back in.

"...because you've been climbing for a really long time, and―"

"I can handle it. Believe me, you're no heavier than my hiking backpack."

"All right... Hey... Switz? Is that... water down there?"

I have to struggle to control my breath, my heart already pounding. Are these two going to find my hiding place?

"Yeah, it is. Let's check it out."

I should get out of here, right now. But I can't. They would see me for sure.

So I just have to hope.

Someone grunts, presumably the one named Switz, and then a small splash and the rustling clack of the pebbles meet my ear.

"Yeah, it's water," Switz announces. He sounds faint, so perhaps he's on the other edge of the lake? I don't know. "Don't drink any; you don't know if it's clean," he warns. I hear some more splashing. "I'll check to see if there's anything to eat in here. You scream if you see someone." A silent pause fills the air, then a colossal splash, then silence again.

I hope for my sake Switz's ally won't scream.

**Switz Wingly, District 7**

I strip off my shirt and jacket, unzip the long legs of my pants, and pull off my shoes and socks before diving into the water. It's cold―I already knew that―but it's a huge relief from the climbing I've done, especially with Liet on my back―she isn't _heavy_, per se, but I was definitely lying when I told her my backpack was heavier.

The water's easy to see through, though the bottom of the lake is too far down to make out clearly. I can see sunlight streaming through the surface, and a few wooden poles sticking up in one area of the lake. And... that's it. There are no fish, no seaweed, no algae, no anything. It's... eerie.

Of course, almost everything in the Hunger Games is eerie.

About to run out of breath, I kick myself back to the surface and gasp in a lungful of air.

"Is anything there?" Liet calls.

"No, nothing. Just water," I reply, paddling back toward her. Now that I've met again with the open air, I'm freezing, so I hurry to shore and climb out. "All right, I'm going to wring out my shorts real quick. Don't watch if you don't want to."

"All right."

I take off the shorts―it only makes me colder now, but it's more important to be dry than warm right now―twist the water out of them, flap them in the air for a second, and slap them back on.

"Do you want to see what's in the backpack?" Liet suggests as I pull on my shirt.

"Good idea." I zip on the lower part of my pant legs, then take the red pack from her and zip it open.

"Did you hear that?" Liet suddenly gasps, clinging to my arm. I nod a no, but stop moving the bag's zipper.

Then I hear it. Something shuffling around on the pebbles.

But when I look around the outside of the lake, I can't see anything but the pier.

The pier...

I go back through the backpack quickly for a weapon, but the only thing close is a pair of scissors too small for my fingers to fit in.

"Hold tight. I'll be right back."

I start across the shore, pebbles crunching softly under my feet as I near the pier.

I figure whoever's hiding there isn't a Career, since Careers aren't likely to crouch snivelling under a block of wood while perfectly good prey is so close. But I still can't assume the tribute doesn't have a weapon―which is why I told Liet to stay.

"All right! Who's there?" I shout, stopping at the edge of the pier, where I can barely make out a shadow of someone half-seated, half-lying down. The shadow shifts nervously when I talk, but doesn't move to come out. "Get out here and show yourself, or I'll drag you out!"

The shadow finally creeps toward me, and I step back, clenching a fist defensively. The tribute crawls out, nervously patting down his clothes and adjusting his glasses, and I can see it's the boy from Eight. He was a total wimp in training, but that never means much. For all I know, he could be worse than a Career.

But, the Eight stands still, holding his hands in the air to show he's unarmed. I can't see anything hidden in his shirt, jacket, pants, or socks, so I'm assuming this gesture is real. I lower my guard―only slightly―and keep glaring at him.

"I'm Austria," the eight starts. "I'm unarmed, and my fiancée is nowhere near."

"That's nice," I deadpan, scanning the area. Just because he says the girl from Eight isn't around doesn't mean it's truth. But, I don't see her anywhere, so I don't have much of a choice but to trust him.

Austria gives a start, but seems much more intimidated than combative. "A-Allies?" he suggests uncertainly.

I narrow my eyes. "Why should I ally with you?"

"W-Well..." He gulps, apparently unable to prove himself useful. "I... I'm good with edible plants... if there are any around here..." He sighs.

"Let's let him join," Liet pipes suddenly from right behind me. I told her not to follow, but that was just in case this guy was armed. And he obviously isn't.

Austria nods quickly in approval, and I frown. I don't think this guy's going to be much of an advantage to ally with, but... He _could_ be useful... And I definitely don't want to make an enemy of him, for when his fiancée―who is _definitely _a fighter―comes along.

"...All right. Allies it is."


	17. Looking for Someone

Recommended Listening: Dancing With Myself by Billy Idol

* * *

**Ciano Idalya, District 6**

I hop over the last jutting ridge I can see, and yelp as I tumble over onto grass. Shaking my head, I roll upright and look around. I'm in some sort of... forest? With tall, yellow grass all over the place that tickles my nose enough to make me sneeze before I finally stand up. Two trees with vivid green leaves and mostly low-lying branches squat on opposite sides of the circle. The only other thing here is a little, elliptical pond in the middle of the circle.

And I don't see any more rocks to climb here, so I guess this is the top.

Did I go far enough to get away from the Career pack?

I stumble back over to the jagged rock wall, put my hands on the top, and peek over. I can see a whole lot from here: a crater with a lake, a crater with thick trees and vines and I think some water, and... the Careers! They're climbing up here!

Jumping away from the ledge, I whip back around, running for the other side of the circle. Just as I pass over the pond, I hear something. But it's not a Career...

"Huh?"

I stop, and slowly turn around. Some of the grass is parting, like something's coming toward me, but all I can make out is something poofy and yellow. Then it finally pokes its head through the last of the grass in front of the pond.

"Lion!" I shriek, turning tail and sprinting toward the edge of the circle. I hear that sound again—that I now recognise as roaring—and the lion's paws thudding hard on the ground in his pursuit.

"Heeelp!" I wail, even though I don't think anyone's around, and if someone is, they aren't likely to help me.

But I still reach the far wall before the lion closes in, and I throw my arms over the rock, scrabbling my feet frantically over its smooth face as I start to feel the lion's breath by my heels. I cry out, finally heaving myself over the edge, safe from the lion.

But my momentum sends me bouncing and rolling down the rocks until I ram into a sharp ledge, making me cry again. I lie there, slumped over, for a little while, dizzy and hurting and... hurting.

Slowly, I reopen my eyes, but the sunlight seems suddenly too bright. My head's still pounding and I'm all bruised and battered and it's not fun.

But I go ahead and sit up, leaning back against the side of the mountain and moaning.

Then a few rocks to my side shift.

I squeak, rolling over behind the ledge.

Someone's here!

**Thew Canda, District 3**

I'm climbing along perfectly fine—a little winded, or a lot winded, but perfectly fine—until I hear... Screaming, crying, wailing... Some panicked sound that could come from a five-year-old kid. Then, just to my left, the cry becomes louder, and rocks clatter like someone's going over them.

At first, I have the instinct to stop moving. But there's no cover here, and I'm fighting humans, not motion detectors, so standing still would be pretty useless.

So, I keep going. Silently, and a lot more slowly, but I keep going.

Then I suddenly come across another tribute.

Startled, I jump back, sending a few small rocks clattering down the mountainside.

Crap! Did I just give myself away?

I snap another glance toward the tribute before ducking down under the largest rock available.

I pose there panting for a while, but the other tribute has yet to come after me, or, from the sound of it, has yet to move at all.

Controlling my breath carefully, I inch up until I'm just peeking over the rock, then realise the other boy has done the same, and drop back down.

Well... If he wanted to hurt me, he probably wouldn't just be hiding...

I rise up to take another peek, seeing once again the other tribute has copied me. He ducks his head back down, but I stay put. I think this guy's the one from... Well, I can't remember the district, but I know I've seen him in the Training Centre. He was the... the guy who...

Oh! Now I remember. He was the one who became "friends" with that serious-faced Career. That was kind of comical, a nice break from the reality of all this. I wouldn't mind having someone like him as an ally, provided he's useful for something other than morale.

But, morale's pretty important here. You lose your purpose, your supplies, and get depressed about it, you're not going to last long here.

And, if he's useless otherwise, I can always break the alliance and run off.

Now, I just have to worry about how to go about asking for an alliance...

I climb up the rocks, coming toward the other tribute slowly, so as not to alarm him. But the next time he peeks up to find me less than a metre away from him, he's alarmed.

"Please don't hurt me!" he wails, standing up shakily. "I'll do anything!"

"Um, I-I'm not going to hurt you," I reply, though my voice is hardly audible over his fretting. But he must have heard me, because he suddenly stops.

"Oh! So, are we friends, then?"

"Um, yeah." I nod, extending a hand to shake. This guy's one little weirdo, that's for sure. But, he's cheerful and _more _than ready to be an ally, so I'll take what I can get.

"Yay!" The boy gleefully takes my gloved hand and shakes.

"Um, in case you didn't pick it up before, my name's Thew. Yours?"

"Ciano," he chirps.

"Well, nice to meet you, Ciano."

**Veta Ungar, District 8**

I've probably been climbing around for hours, and I still haven't found Austria. Of course, the playing field's one of the largest I've seen, so that's not surprising, but you'd think that, when I climb high enough, I can see everyone. Well, that's not the case. Even though the rocks don't provide cover, the mini-environments scattered around do.

I'm assuming my fiancé must be in one of those environments. Because of the few tributes I can pick out climbing, none of them are struggling like I know Austria would be after this long an exertion.

Of course, that also probably means the figures I'm looking down are those of the Careers.

Which means I need to find some cover of my own.

I shuffle across the outcropping under my feet until my view falls upon another crater. This one's filled with trees, and a bit misty despite the cold, bright sunshine. I wouldn't feel comfortable in there—there aren't exactly a bunch of woods to romp around and get familiar with in District 8—so I'd rather go for another crater.

I have to scuttle around another few metres before the next crater comes into view: a circle full of nothing but bright, green grass and a lone tree. Well, it's all I can make out from here, at least. But it offers cover, so it's good enough for me.

I check my surroundings one last time, to be safe, then start to make my descent toward the grass. Managing not to scrape myself on anything, though I do stumble a few times, I progress pretty well—it still takes a while, but I doubt anyone could get around that quickly here—and no one seems to be on my tail.

I'd say that's good enough in my book.

I slide down a couple of rocks, and I'm stopped by the wall that lines every one of the craters I've seen.

It's hard to pull myself over the ledge—I got over the first wall easy enough, but I was a lot less tired then—though I do manage to haul myself over eventually.

I lay against the ridge panting, my ankles exposed to the grass—which is a little uncomfortable, but I won't complain—until I catch my breath. That takes a little longer than I'd like, but once it's done, I head for the tree.

The grass still stings some as I progress through it, but it's still more of a nuisance than a threat.

I get to the tree soon—it has a brilliant white trunk, and a thick coating of reddish leaves—and haul myself up to the first branch. At first, I feel like it won't take my weight—the tree's a lot thinner than the few I've seen planted around my district—but the branch holds firm, so I relax.

Looks like this'll be my shelter for a while. It's not perfect, and it never will be as long as Austria isn't here with me, but that's all right. I'll find him, and we'll be on our merry way soon enough.

...Though I can't help but think "soon enough" won't get here for a while.


	18. I Have Allied with an Idiot

Author's Note: All right, everyone, the time is coming. August 15. I am moving around and getting a huge increase in my workload, so... The current world of fast updates will explode to tiny, bite-size pieces. Updates are probably only going to come on weekends (though I don't know quite enough about my situation to know for sure), and it may not even be every weekend. But, no matter how long it takes, I _will_update. I will never abandon a fic if people are reading it, so never worry about that.

So, enjoy the speedy updates while they last, and review if you can. :)

Oh, and if you don't know what a morningstar is, it's the little medieval thingy with the handle attached to a length of chain attached to a spiky ball of doom.

Recommended Listening: Paradise by the Dashboard Light by Meatloaf (particularly the last part of it)

* * *

**Toris Lithu, District 12**

"Are you, like, kidding me?"

I sigh, leaning back against the meadow crater's wall and rubbing the bridge of my nose tiredly. "No, of course not."

"But I'm hungry!" Poal complains, stomping a foot on the ground.

"Well, do you know what kinds of berries they are?"

"No, but―"

"Then I don't want to hear it. This is the Hunger Games, Poal. Everything is out to kill you."

"Well, then what are we, like, supposed to eat, then? Grass?"

"You can try that if you want, but..." Poal glares, not happy despite my attempt at a jocose jape. "We'll just try and find some animals. Especially dangerous ones."

"Wha-What?" my district partner exclaims. "So you'd rather, like, get mauled by a bear than get a little sick from poison?"

"First of all, if these are poisonous, we're not going to 'get a little sick'. Like I said, everything is out to _kill _us. I wouldn't be surprised if those―" I point at the closest berry, a bright yellow one―"are all Capitol mutts."

Poal scowls. "You're, like, so paranoid, Toris."

"Well, it's awfully hard to die from berries you didn't take the chance to eat, is all I'm saying."

"And it's awfully hard to die from an animal attack if you didn't, like, try to eat the animal!"

"It's not like I'd just go running in front of something vicious singing, 'I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts' at the top of my lungs! If we're careful, we could―"

"We could what?" Poal interrupts. "Just get, like, _one _limb ripped off?"

I groan. Poal is not easy to argue with. "Well, tell you what," I sigh. "How about we look around, and when we find a muttation, _I'll _take it down so you don't have to dirty your dress."

"That's even stupider!" she protests. "And I'm not even _wearing _a dress, in case you didn't notice!"

"...That's not the argument at hand, Poal."

She makes a frustrated, inarticulate noise and crosses her arms. "But, seriously? If you're going to, like, attack the animal to eat, why does it have to be a 'vicious muttation'?"

"Because," I sigh, feeling like I'm trying to explain quantum mechanics to a three-year-old, "if it's something out to kill us while it's alive, it's probably not out to kill us when it's dead."

"What the heck are you even talking about?" Poal shouts, looking about ready to attack me in her frustration.

"If the Capitol engineered it to attack, that's how it would go about killing. But if they designed it _not _to attack, it's probably supposed to kill us after it's dead―AKA, when we eat it. Poisoned. Capiche?"

"You think _everything's _poisoned!"

"That's because it usually is!"

Poal glares at me, but it's obvious she's lost the argument. "Fine," she humphs, flicking her head away from me. "But don't blame me if the stupid mutt animal kills you."

"I won't, because it won't happen."

She shoots me another glare. "All right, fine. But if we're not, like, going to eat any of the berries here, let's go somewhere else."

"Okay," I reply with a shrug, standing up after Poal. She pulls herself over the wall without my assistance―like she's still mad at me, which she probably is―and doesn't help me as I heave myself over.

"Where to, then?" I start. "The Careers went straight up the side of the mountain, so we'll want to stay low, still."

" 'Kay." Poal looks around, then starts off, away from the meadow. "This way, then."

"Works for me."

We continue hiking around the base for what I think is a few minutes―though it feels like it takes much longer―before Poal suddenly stops in front of me. Unaware, I end up bumping into her.

"What are you―"

"Oh, my gosh!" she squeals in a pitch high enough to shatter glass. But it's not sharpened by fear. She sounds more... excited. "It's a―it's a―!"

I scoot out from behind her slowly, curious what could have possibly launched this reaction.

"It's a _pony_!" Poal runs ahead, clambering up the rocks so quickly I can't believe she was just complaining about being hungry.

"What?" I start after her, finally able to make out the brown animal. "Weren't you just ranting about being killed by a Capitol mutt?" I yell, unable to catch up before she's standing right next to the thing.

"Well, this isn't, like, a mutt! It doesn't have horns, or four eyes, or anything!"

"That doesn't mean it's not a muttation! Remember, everything here is out to kill you!"

"Uh, yeah!" she replies in a "duh" tone of voice. "And I, like, want to ride a pony before I die!"

"You're ridiculous," I deadpan, but it's obvious she's not paying attention. She's determined to ride that thing, and I have never, never, _never _been able to talk her out of things once she's got her mind set.

Here's hoping this works out.

**Vivi Daley, District 1**

The Career pack has all settled on the uppermost crater. It will be a stupendous vantage point―we can see down into every one of the mountain's environments―and it will be very hard for another tribute to sneak up on us. There's water―not much, but with our Cornucopia goods and our sponsors, we won't need much, anyway―and nothing's inconvenient about this place at all.

Well, there was a lion, but Lude took care of him in a snap. One swing of the morningstar, and we've got fresh meat for lunch.

Of course, Mr. Voracious himself―also known as my district partner, Alf―claims the whole thing, even though he had no hand at all in killing the beast. So, naturally, Lude threw the carcass at him and told him he had to prepare the meat for himself.

I'm actually quite surprised Alf didn't just attempt to eat the lion meat raw. He seems like the kind of idiot who'd do that, after all. But he does actually decide to start up a fire.

In the middle of all the grass.

Yes. He's not the brightest one in this alliance.

Luckily, the Cornucopia haul included a fire blanket, so Japan and I managed to stop the blaze before it spread through the entire area―which, by the way, held all of our belongings... Once again, Alf is not bright―and told him to go try cooking the meat over the surrounding rocks.

He didn't go happily, by any means, but he did manage to stomp over there and start another fire, this time one that didn't threaten to engulf the entirety of our supplies.

I'd quite like to kill this idiot now, but for me, it's impossible. He's much stronger than me, and, though I may be more skilled in weapon use than him, one lucky swipe on his part would land me unconscious. And he would have several opportunities to do such, considering the very slow, painful, bloody way I'd like to get rid of him.

And, unlike Alf, I am not stupid enough to endanger myself with something so ridiculous.


	19. Consequences

Author's Note: There is officially another competitor in the contest for the title of "Awesomest Reviewer". Her name is Adrenaline Write. Can you handle the competition, WindBlown101? ;)

A big thanks to you both, as well as Spockie, sotnosen93, and anyone else who'd like to try reviewing. Those messages in my inbox always make my day. :)

Recommended Listening: My Life by Billy Joel

* * *

**Austria Edel, District 8**

My alliance has determined the lake is too open to shelter in. Though nightfall's still a while away, it's going to come far before we would like it to. We might as well get started climbing for something more suitable, and enclosed.

Although I can't say I enjoy getting back out of my comfortable—albeit wet—seated position, I agree we need to get moving. In the Hunger Games, where Gamemakers control every last detail of the arena, daylight can last anywhere from 24 hours to just four. The sun could disappear with no warning at all, releasing the night-bound Careers to hunt weaker tributes.

Tributes like me.

Of course, I'm sure my new alliance could help delay my death, but, no matter how more well-built Switz is than me, he's still no match for a Career. He doesn't have a weapon, aside from a small pair of scissors he got in his backpack—he'd showed me the contents: the scissors, a deck of cards, a shrink-wrapped square of tofu, and a matchbox, after our alliance officially began—so there's really no chance this alliance would survive if the Career pack finds it.

Which brings us back to the necessity of shelter. Without an advantage in hand-to-hand combat, and without the slightest tactical ken—on my part, at least—our only chance is hiding out. The lake provided no cover but the pier, and, as I learnt, there's almost no way to hide under there for long without sliding halfway underwater. The mountain itself may be plenty rocky, but there aren't any outcroppings that could decently hide a single human being, let alone three.

But, we come up to the next crater soon enough—well, I'm personally about to collapse from the exertion of climbing this far, but otherwise, it's soon enough—and Switz, his sister on his back, tells me to check the territory first.

Ah. I get it. Send the useless one in first, and perhaps he'll take the hit for you if the field's not safe. While it's not that flattering a request, I do need to prove my loyalty to the alliance somehow.

So, I nod, and, putting my hands on the ridge, strain to pull myself up.

But I'm far too exhausted to heave myself up any more than an inch.

"Here, I'll help," Switz sighs, sounding very disapproving of my low stamina. He grabs my ankles, making me stagger a little until I regain my grip on the taller-than-usual rock wall. He grunts and lifts me up slowly, just enough for me to hook my arms over the ledge, then lets go. Ignoring the sudden pressure on my armpits, I take my first look at this environment.

Watery, splotchy mud littered with leaves and bugs covers the ground, interrupted only by clusters of smelly, damp trees covered with umber bark, dark green leaves, and yellow-green vines.

"It's... some sort of swamp," I inform Switz, shifting my arms uncomfortably.

"See any animals?"

"No... A couple of birds in the trees, maybe, but that's all."

"All right. Let's try it."

Suddenly, my ally's hands are around my ankles again, and he rotates them up so that I'm horizontally across the ridge. I hang there for a moment far too short before I spin over and land with a splash in the mud.

"Liet, you're going next, okay?"

I stand up, attempting to brush a couple of clods of mud off myself, when Liet's head pops up above the wall. She puts her hands on the ledge, grasping tightly as she's raised some more, then swings her feet over the ridge. She slides down in a series of tight jerks, then lands, the mud up to her ankles.

"You land all right?"

"Mmm-hmm!"

"Okay, watch out; I'm coming now."

Liet and I stand back as Switz hauls himself over the rocks and lands, panting heavily.

"What have we got here," he says, chest still heaving, "that could work for shelter?"

"The trees, I suppose," I reply, not catching my breath any better than him.

"Let's... check it out," Switz decides. "Liet, you hang out here for a while. Scream if you see anyone." Liet nods, and Switz and I start across the mud.

It's hard to progress; the ground is trying to swallow up my feet every time I move, the dirty water is a lot to slog through, and the omnipresent rotting moldiness is almost too much to breathe through.

Switz suggests, "Once we get to the trees, we should rip off a couple of branches to use as walking st—" He's cut off.

By a high-pitched shriek.

"Liet!" He whips around and streaks across the mud in stumbling lopes. I follow in a series of feeble splashes, but I'm far from keeping up. I just let myself come to an exhausted stop and watch the scene.

Liet is gripping a lower ledge hard enough to turn her knuckles white and screaming as something halfway underwater tries to pull her away. I realise the thing with its jaws clamped on her leg is some sort of alligator right before Switz arrives to help.

"Get away from her!" he screams, pounding his mud-filled shoe on the gator's head. It doesn't deter the creature, who keeps trying to rip Liet off the ledge, so Switz shoves a hand in his backpack, takes out the scissors, and proceeds to force the points into the alligator's eyes. This is finally enough to make it let go, and Switz hurriedly pulls Liet, still whimpering, out of range. The alligator sinks back into the water before I'm finally able to start toward my allies.

Switz swears. "With all this mud, this'll get infected in no time," he hisses, referring to the sizable portion of ripped flesh on his sister's leg. He picks her up, glances at me, and announces, "We're going back to the lake!" He clambers over the wall with some difficulty, leaving me to hurry after alone.

**Veta Ungar, District 8**

I'm still perched in the tree, and, though I'm glad no one's found me, my ankles are starting to hurt like mad. They're unbearably itchy, and my exaggerated pulse there throbs out more burning pain with every beat.

I shouldn't move around much, since rustling leaves could give me away, but this is driving me crazy. So I flip up the bottom of my pants and look.

Sure enough, the skin of my ankles is buried underneath crisscrossing cuts and pink, inflamed blotches.

Did the grass do that? While there's not really grass to run around in in District 8, I don't think this is normal. Did the Gamemakers put some sort of muttated, Capitol grass in this crater, to afflict anyone who tries to run through it?

If so, they did a pretty good job.

I run a hand over an ankle experimentally, but flick it back immediately at the fiery pricks of pain that follow.

Crap. Well, it doesn't do so well with things touching it. Can I put any weight on it?

I carefully move my foot over to another branch and slowly start to lean on it. With an involuntary yelp of pain, I pull back.

This is bad. If I'm immobilised, I won't be able to run or kick or do anything against the competition.

And I certainly won't be able to find Austria.

**Poal Feliks, District 12**

With a grunt, I heave myself over the pony's back—he's nice enough to stand still while I mount—and sit up. "Look, Toris! I'm, like, on a pony!"

"Yes, you are. Will you get down now?"

"You're no fun, Toris!"

"The Hunger Games are no fun, either!"

"Not with you around to spoil it!" I humph, turning away from him, and wrap a few hands in the pony's hair. "But I'm going to have fun, and you're not, like, going to ruin it for me with your stupid paranoia! All right," I start, leaning in toward the pony's ear. "Giddyap!" The pony clacks a hoof on the ground, but doesn't move. "I said, giddyap!" I tug on his hair a little bit, but he still doesn't do anything. "Come _on_!" I jerk on his mane hard, and he finally whinnies and starts walking around the rocks.

"Look, Toris! I'm, like, totally riding a pony!" I squeal.

"All right, you've ridden your pony! Now get off and get away from it! You don't know—"

"Oh, quit being such a worrywart! You're, like, just being annoying. This guy's not going to hurt me!" The pony speeds up a little, making the ride bouncier, but I can still sit up. "I don't think he's, like, here to kill me after all! Maybe he's just supposed to help me up the mountain!"

"Poal, get off!"

"No!" The pony speeds up a little, and when I look behind me, Toris is getting smaller and smaller. "Ha! This is, like, amazing!" I relax a little, feeling the wind blow through my hair as the pony keeps trotting along.

Suddenly, he speeds to a gallop, and I have to tangle his mane in my hands to keep from losing my grip. "H-Hey! Like, slow down! Uh..." I try to remember what you're supposed to say to make a horse slow down. "Whoa! _Whoa_!" But instead of slowing down, he suddenly rears up, and my fingers are jerked out of his mane as I'm sent flying.

I scream, flailing my limbs through the air, but finding nothing to hold on to. "Help! Toris!"

"Poal!" I barely hear Toris's reply before I land hard, feeling a loud crunch in my neck before everything goes black.


	20. Head on Your Shoulders

Author's Note: There won't be a "live broadcast" of the whole faces of the dead bit here. For reference, the only deaths before sunset were Poal's and the bloodbath'ers'.

And, this is the last chapter before I move out. Oh, I'm nervous. x.x Yeah, so, don't be offended if I don't reply to your reviews (which you _will _give... right?) very soon.

Recommended Listening: No More Mr. Nice Guy by Alice Cooper

* * *

**Thew Canda, District 3**

Ciano and I have been spiralling around the mountain for a while, trying to find decent shelter for the soon-to-come nightfall. We've seen everything from a lake—occupied by an alliance of three—to a crater filled with long fronds of grass covered with frost and blowing in the wind—occupied by an alliance of two.

We decide on a crater containing a small forest, and we end up having to climb down to it, so we slide down carefully. We don't want to make much noise, since the Careers could easily spot us if we attract attention, and the light is fading, so it's hard to find a good path.

So, slow as it may be, we make progress.

It's getting very hard for me to see in this twilight. With rocks casting shadows everywhere and sunlight fading, there's not much to make out. I have to feel my way up to the edge of the crater before I feel confident in hauling myself over it.

I land on a grassy knoll, a patch of dirt at my elbow before I roll over and stand up.

"It's safe here," I call quietly, backing away from the spot I entered.

I hear Ciano straining to pull himself over the ledge before he finally tumbles over, gasping for breath.

"All right. Let's just find somewhere to shelter, and—"

"I'm hungry," Ciano interrupts in a whiny tone.

"What?" I respond, dumbfounded.

"I'm hungry," he repeats, sitting up. "Can we eat something?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I just cooked that snake back there and gave it to you to eat a few minutes ago."

Ciano shuffles through his jacket pocket, and holds out something to me. The piece of snake.

"Why didn't you...?"

Ciano makes a sad noise and looks down. "I can't eat that. I can only eat yummy food."

What? You idiot! Like you're just going to stumble upon some fancy Capitol meal in the middle of the freaking Hunger Games!

"Then... how do you expect to _get _'yummy food' to eat?" is what comes out of my mouth.

"Ah!" Ciano shuffles through his other pocket, and pulls out a rectangular box whose details I can't make out. "My mentor sent me pasta!"

"You need water to make pasta, and I don't think we have any clean—"

"Didn't one of your mentors just send you a water canteen?"

"Yes," I sigh. "But that's all the water we have."

"Don't worry," Ciano assures, "I'm sure there's enough to make pasta in there!"

You're not getting the point, idiot.

"But this is all the water we have to drink," I reply, trying to stay patient. "And it's more important to stay hydrated than fed in a survival situation."

"But I'm hungry!" Ciano whimpers in a timid voice.

This is too ridiculous. Maybe we're not that thirsty right now, but we will be soon. And I refuse to run out of water just because this guy wants to make his stupid pasta. I am _not _going to let him walk all over me!

"All right, here," I concede, tossing my canteen to him.

...

I am such a doormat.

**Ukraine Bragins, District 9**

Russia and I have settled down for the night without food. We haven't found any animals—not to mention, we don't have any sort of weapon to kill them with—and we'd rather not take our chances with the plants—it's better to go hungry one night than poison ourselves.

And it's not like we've never gone to bed hungry before. Especially right after Mom's accident, hungry nights would plague us more than once a week.

So, I guess we're used to hunger enough. That'll be an advantage in the _Hunger _Games, I'm sure. We can ignore our stomachs for now and focus on other things, like shelter and night watches.

Shelter's pretty easy. We stumbled across a crater filled with nothing but long blades of grass that, although they're bent over in arcs, are tall enough to reach my thighs. Russia's already rolled himself up tight in a row of the grass, and he's almost invisible. This place is really perfect for us—easy to hide in, but still exposed enough to the moonlight we can still see. The only downside of it, really, is the bitter cold at least twenty degrees cooler than the rest of the mountain, but guess what? We're used to that, too.

As for night watches, it's pretty obvious I'll stay up first. My brother is already snug in the grass, and since the Careers are probably going to strike early in the night, I want to be the one up for it. Because I'm sure Russia won't fight back any more than he had in that school scuffle, so if someone finds our camp, I'll be ready to fight.

So here I am, my jacket zipped up but not shielding me from the cold well, me shivering in the wind and keeping an eye out for assailants.

The moonlight _is _good light, but I still can't see that far. I'm probably going to have to rely on my hearing, as is, to track down anyone near.

—I hear a clack.

Someone's climbing the rocks around here, already? Have the Careers found us?

I look around, but can't find any giveaway silhouettes.

If someone _is _here, I need a weapon. But...

I step over a few times, quietly, and feel around the bottom edge of the crater, picking up a good, solid rock. It's not going to be very good defence, but it might stall someone long enough for me and Russia to escape.

Russia. I want to cast a glance back at my brother, but I can't. If a Career is ready to pounce, I don't want to show them exactly where he's hiding.

So, I grip the rough edges of the only defence I have, and hope.

**Japan Hond, District 4**

The Career pack is hunting. I myself have chosen to hunt on my own, since I operate best in silence, and most of my allies... are not the silent type.

I've opted to scale down the side of the mountain and start at the bottom-most crater, which happens to be filled with seemingly endless waves of grass, as well as a girl, standing solemnly.

From where I stand, the scene is only visible through a valley in the crater wall. But I can make out the girl—from District 9, I believe—well enough, shivering in the cold, her platinum blonde hair shining in the moonlight.

I have to thank the Gamemakers for the outfit we all wear in this Games. From my vantage point behind the 9, I can clearly see the vertebra at the very bottom of her neck—from that, I should be able to calculate where the rest of the vertebrae in her neck are located. With the incredibly thin sword I gained from the Cornucopia, as well as my own swordsmanship, I'll get a cut clean through her with minimal interference from bone.

It may seem a bit horrid to behead people, but... With my skills, and the tribute's obliviousness, a simple stab to the heart or throat is too... simple. I suppose what I'm going to do is a... challenge of sorts.

Sword in hand, I leap over the barrier silently, the grass cushioning my shoes efficiently. The girl from 9 has a large rock in her grasp, but there's no way she'll have spun to face me and strike me with it before I strike.

I strike.

A clean cut, as I expected, and the cannon booms.

I survey the crater quickly, deciding no one else is here to eliminate, and sheath my sword, jumping back over the wall and dashing back into the night.

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

I wake up to a cannon booming. I guess someone else... must have... died... But...

That-that just means I have a better chance of getting out, right?

I roll over in the grass a bit, but I don't think I'm going to get back to sleep. So, deciding I'll relieve Sis of her watch, I get myself unwound and sit up.

But... I don't see Ukraine anywhere.

"Ukraine?" I take another look around, and am just able to make out her hair through the grass right next to me. Did she accidentally fall asleep?

Weaving my hands through the grass, I push it aside to see my sister's head.

And... And...

_Only _her head.

I scuttle away, wide-eyed, breathing in quick, panicked huffs.

"U-U-U—A-_Aaah_!" And suddenly, I'm just screaming at the top of my lungs, crawling backward, trying to get away from this.

But I know I can't. Ukraine... Ukraine's really... really...

Oh, God. This-this can't happen! We were... We were s-supposed to go through this together, and... and...

What-what am I supposed to do now?

My eyes are glued to the hovercraft as it descends, making two trips to pick up my sister, when something else floats down from the sky.

A parachute? A... A donation?

My ears still ringing from the screaming I've barely even started to stifle, I take the donation in my shaking hands and pull away the parachute to reveal a large knife.

I can almost hear the mentor speaking to me.

_That's what you're supposed to do now. Kill._

Y-Yeah. I-I mean, looking at the bright side of this, I would say... Now that she's gone... I could... win. I don't have to kill her.

I just... have to kill everyone else.


	21. A Different Kind of Career

Author's Note: If you don't know what a halberd is, I suggest you look it up. :3

This chapter's Recommended Listening: Rock You Like a Hurricane by The Scorpions

* * *

**Gil Prus, District 10**

I am gonna be so cool tonight. The Careers—split up across the arena this year—are out looking for tributes. And one unlucky sucker is going to find me. And I'm taking him down. I've got my knife, a relatively full stomach thanks to the rabbit I _owned_ earlier, and, of course, my awesome self. And no stupid Career can compete with that.

So, to make sure some overconfident sap finds me, I've decided to ditch shelter and show myself clearly on the side of the mountain.

Although it took some time—dumb Careers are slow to find me—my strategy works, sending the girl from 2 my way.

Grinning, I hide my knife behind my back—no need for her to figure out her death by awesome just yet—and wait for her to get close.

"You're not very good at hiding," she comments.

"Ha! Like I was trying to hide!"

Corianne raises an eyebrow, but doesn't make a move to attack. Now's my chance—one slash to a vital region, and this battle's over!

I whip my knife around from behind my back, aiming for her torso, but my weapon stops with a clang.

"Well," Corianne starts, one corner of her mouth twisting into a grin, "guess you're not going to sit down and die quietly, huh?" I withdraw my knife from the handle of her halberd—I made a dent in the wood, but that obviously wasn't what I was aiming for—and she hefts the axe-like weapon back over her shoulder. "Oh, well. Just means you'll die slower."

I can't help but laugh at her ridiculous idea. "I'm going to die? _I'm _going to die? Oh, no. That's not going to happen. Because—" I tilt my knife, which glints in the moonlight—"_you're _the one who's going to die. Right. Now!"

**Corianne File, District 2**

This Gil guy's some kind of idiot, I decide, when he declares he's going to kill me. Yeah, sure, kid. Who has the better weapon here? Who has at least ten years more experience in killing?

In case you weren't sure, the answer is _me_.

As if I didn't already think he was dumb enough, he takes another swipe at me, aiming at the _exact same place_. Yeah. Idiot. I block him easily.

He pulls back, and I do as well, readying my weapon for an attack of my own. He comes forward first, but his knife's reach is far too short, and I get the first hit—a nice slice into his shoulder.

To my surprise, he hardly flinches—but his reflex is still enough to keep him from getting that puny knife of his anywhere important.

I rip the halberd out of him and spin it around for another shot, but I end up having to pause in order to block him with the handle.

Really, kid? You didn't get me the first time, you didn't get me the second time, and you're trying the exact same move again?

Yeah. Real genius.

I withdraw the handle—it comes back to me a little easier than before, almost like he didn't dig his knife into it this time, and—

Wait.

I look back quickly, and, sure enough, the hand he'd struck me with doesn't hold his knife anymore.

And suddenly, his blade is ripping through my side. I can't stifle the immediate yelp of pain, but I manage to get in a hit of my own, and he stops his attack. Cursing and stepping back, Gil grips his shoulder, coating his hand in blood, but his expression clearly shows he doesn't mind. As if he's actually enjoying the Hunger Games.

Well. Guess that makes two of us.

**Gil Prus, District 10**

I have to admit it, this chick's pretty good. After all, she _did _get two good hits to my shoulder, dealing enough pain that I can barely hang on to my knife.

But I _can _hang on. So this girl's still gonna be the one who dies.

I end up switching hands—yeah, I _could _hang on with my injured side, but that's not my dominant hand, anyway—and go for a stab at her heart while she's trying to quit freaking out about her wound.

All I end up stabbing is a lock of hair when she dodges and slashes her own weapon at me. I dodge, too—'cause I'm fricking _awesome_ like that—and twist around, using the momentum to drive my knife hard into her side.

Okay, it's not a vital region, but it's still enough to make her flinch, so I lurch forward again, swiping my knife in a wide arc toward her neck...

...And my weapon slips right out of my blood-covered hand.

Corianne dodges the wayward strike easily, and swings her halberd around, getting a score across my stomach before I can pull back.

Her weapon's heavy enough to keep her from swiping it around again, so I take the pause to sprint after my knife, which has slid a few metres down the mountain. I follow the splattery trail of blood until I get to the weapon, snatching it up hurriedly.

I just start to spin back around towards my opponent—

"Too slow!" she shouts maniacally, whipping the halberd toward my chest. I jump to the side, getting a slice through my jacket but nothing more.

"No, _you're _too slow!" I retort with a grin, slashing my knife across the side of her neck in midair.

I land roughly, tumbling over a few rocks, one digging into my shoulder wound, before I finally roll to a stop.

I barely manage to sit up when I hear the cannon boom.

"Ha!" I laugh, seeing the hovercraft descend by Corianne's body. "No one wins against Gil Prus!" I shout victoriously before blacking out.

**Alf Meric, District 1**

Something's poking me in the side, and I grumble. Come on, can't a guy get a decent amount of sleep around here? I roll over, and the poking stops. Finally.

"Wake _up_!" Someone kicks me hard in the stomach, sending me tumbling for a good metre.

"Fine, fine," I half-grumble half-cough, sitting up. I rub my eyes open before I realise my glasses came off. "Where're my glasses?"

"Find them yourself," my attacker grunts. I can't really make out who he is, since I'm pretty blind without my spectacles, but the gruff voice is definitely Lude's.

Grumbling, I crawl across the grass, feeling around for my glasses, until I finally find them. I wipe them on my shirt and put them on. "So, what exactly was so important I had to wake up?"

"We're in the middle of a hunt!" Lude growls. "I agreed it was a good idea to leave you to watch camp, not leave you to get your beauty sleep. What if someone had come by while you were getting your shut-eye? They could have taken all our food and medical supplies—they could have even killed you!"

"Aw, relax, dude," I scoff. "That _didn't _happen, so what's the harm?"

Lude narrows his eyes, but it's obvious I've won this argument; he doesn't retort with anything else.

" 'Swhat I thought." I stand up and stretch, mouth gaping open in a yawn. "But now that I'm up, I'm hungry. What else do we have to eat?"

"Well, considering you've already eaten _five day's worth _in the _first day_, not much!"

"Aw, quit being such a sourpuss. We've got sponsors, you know."

"There aren't enough people in the entire Capitol to feed _you_ in the Games!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Tell you what," I say, slapping a hand on his shoulder, "I'll go out and hunt, and you can make sure that... _whoever _doesn't mess with our crap. Okay? Okay."

I walk away nonchalantly, but I can still feel his glare.


	22. Feeling Lucky

Author's Note: Thank you all very much for the comments! I about squealed when three people had already reviewed my last chapter. So thank you~

Recommended Listening: Psycho Killer by Talking Heads

* * *

**Thew Canda, District 3**

Well, after all the hecticness of Ciano's ridiculous gourmet cravings, the rest of last night went by pretty smoothly. We switched watches all right, and, besides a lizard smaller than my thumb—which somehow frightened Ciano into a state of panic—we weren't invaded by anyone.

But, it's morning now, and to my ally, that means it's time to beg your mentor to send you some fancy breakfast food.

Really? We're stuck here for who knows how long, and you want to waste all of our donations _from the start_ on ludicrously lavish meal orders?

I am beginning to _seriously_ doubt continuing this alliance.

"Aw," Ciano starts, unwrapping the donation from the parachute disappointedly. "Just risotto? What happened to all the sponsors?"

Well, they probably realised you're the most ridiculously idiotic tribute they've ever had the misfortune to throw their money at.

But that's just a theory.

"Well, things get more expensive as the Games go on…"

"Oh. Okay!" Ciano pipes before immediately digging into the food.

"Um, Ciano! Can I have some?" He doesn't respond, just keeps eating.

The moron! He squanders all of our funds on his gourmet crap, and he doesn't even let me have a single bite?

I should just swat it out of his hands right now and tell him I am _not _going to be allied with someone who wastes our donations on all of these stupid whims!

"Ciano…?" is all I say.

He still doesn't notice me, and I watch helplessly as he devours the last of what's likely to be our alliance's only meal for the day. He sets the plate down and licks his fingers, then turns toward me quizzically.

"Oh, did you want some?"

No—freaking_—duh!_

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

This is actually kind of fun. Just climbing around the mountain, wind blowing through my hair—the breeze isn't what I'd call warm, but it's much nicer than at home, for sure—with a good view of a few different mini-environments spotting the landscape. I don't see any people just yet... but...

Ah! Is that someone, down by the base of the mountain? I think so!

Well, looks like I've found another competitor. So, I need to go down and eliminate him or her next, right? Yeah. Because I'm going to win, since that would be all the fun I could get out of this.

Really, I'm lucky. How many people get a chance to play through the Hunger Games?

I scuttle down the rocks toward the other competitor silently, my knife stowed carefully in my pants pocket.

He—I've figured out it's a he now; the boy from Twelve, I think—doesn't notice me until I stumble, sending a handful of pebbles clattering down toward him. His head jerks up, and he gasps, turning to bolt.

Luckily, I'm only a few metres away when the chase starts.

But Toris is running pretty fast, so it'll be hard to catch up—but that's okay. I will eventually.

**Thew Canda, District 3**

Well, I did manage to find a few bird eggs for my breakfast, so I'm not starting out the day on a completely empty stomach—though it would be a stretch to say I'm not still hungry.

"Sooo… What do we do now?" Ciano starts.

"Nothing," I reply, "would be nice. If no one finds us, we don't need to move just yet."

"I guess you'll have to move now, then, huh?" The foreign voice behind me makes me jump, whereas Ciano flees immediately. After my initial reaction, I realise whoever just snuck up on us is very bad news, and I take off after my ally, tearing through branches and half-blinded by the ubiquitous strands of moss hanging from the trees. I stumble on a root, but compose myself quickly and take off again—

—But it's already too late.

A hand grabs my jacket coarsely, and I'm dragged back into a more open stretch of forest before I finally see my assailant's face. The same face as mine—the face of Alf from District 1.

"See, Lude!" he calls, waving at a figure behind the crater wall. "I'm gonna get a kill right now, okay?"

Lude grunts, then swings himself over the rocky barrier easily and stares at us both. Alf seems slightly unnerved by the Two's omnipresent glare, and takes his attention away from me for a split second.

Now's the only chance I'm going to get!

I unzip my jacket as quickly as possible and rip my arms out of the sleeves, leaving Alf to find only my jacket in his grasp as I bolt.

I think I'm going to make it—I just have to run a while longer, and hide somewhere—that'll be easy, in this environment—and I'm home free—

My shoulder's wrenched out of my socket in a sudden jerk, making me cry out.

And now, I'm being dragged back to the clearing. Now, I'm going to die for sure.

"All right, I got him!" Alf calls.

"You shouldn't have lost track of him in the first place!" Lude growls back.

"Well, you didn't exactly keep up with that Ciano guy!"

Lude doesn't seem to be able to come up with another retort.

"That's what I thought." Alf pauses, throwing a muscular arm over my shoulders to keep me from escaping. I try to pry it off me, but I can't. Alf turns to see my struggling.

"Oh! Hey, it's the guy that looks like me!" he suddenly exclaims, apparently only just now realising who he had captured. "So… If I kill him, is it suicide?" he continues, immediately bursting out laughing at his own joke.

"Get on with it!" Lude roars impatiently.

"Oh, fine. Hmm…" Alf looks over me. "All right, you know what? I bet… I could kill this guy in one hit to the head."

"Just kill him already!"

Alf frowns. "Fine."

He releases me, but before I can move a muscle, his fist collides with my skull, and my vision goes black.

**Toris Lithu, District 12**

I should've been paying more attention! I got too caught up trying to kill that snake for food, and now look what I've gotten myself into. Running toward who knows where, with the boy from 9 right behind me.

I have to admit, I'm a little surprised. From his chipper personality in the interviews, and his unwillingness to go to combat stations in training, he certainly didn't seem like a killer to me.

But I guess that's what happens when you answer everything as quick as possible. You answer wrong.

So, initial assumptions aside, this guy is going to kill me if he catches up.

I'm sprinting across a relatively flat stretch of mountain now, so I take the chance to crane my neck and check on my assailant's progress.

He's come closer. I'm sure of it. Not much closer, but that doesn't matter. If this process continues, he'll have caught up completely in a minute.

Which means, I have to change the process somehow.

And the perfect chance is coming up in front of me.

I don't know which environment is behind this crater's wall, but I don't care. Somehow, I have to change this cycle, or the Nine is definitely going to catch up with me.

I get to the wall, throwing hands on top of its ridge and slicing them with its coarseness. Scrabbling feet on the too-smooth rock face, I just manage to heave myself over into a pile of sand. I can't help but lie there panting for a few seconds before I can finally get back up and pelt through the crater.

I'm hardly two metres into the world of sand when I hear the Nine crashing into the dune behind me.

I haven't bought enough time. I just have to keep running, and, if I'm lucky, Nine will get tripped up in the sand somewhere...

I reach the halfway mark before him, then abruptly lose my footing. Forced to swallow a small cloud of sand, I struggle back up hacking and panting so much it's hard to breathe. But I do get up and start running again.

I'm still ahead of the Nine; he's close behind, but I'm still not quite within his reach—

I lose my footing again.

But instead of being tripped by a sand dune, I've been tripped by... nothing. My foot slipped because the sand beneath me has begun to cascade down into nowhere, and I'm about to follow.

But before I've fallen a metre, I'm caught by my attacker.

And I don't have to wonder what happens next.

**Lude Ermany, District 2**

Alf's prey has just thudded to the ground when the cannon fires.

"Ha!" he exclaims, striking a victory pose. "Told you I could—"

"Save it."

Alf frowns. "Fine, fine. Let's just go find that Ciano weirdo." He pauses. "Unless his _friend_ has a problem with that."

I meet his gaze coldly. "No problem at all."


	23. Setting Off

Recommended Listening: Don't Stop Believing by Journey (not the most fitting Recommended Listening, but it should work for you.)

* * *

**Veta Ungar, District 8**

Well, it certainly wasn't a picnic falling asleep in a cramped tree, nor was it fun when I almost fell out upon awakening. But, I did make it through the night without being found. That's definitely a plus.

Now I just need to find my fiancé.

My ankles are still throbbing, but I'm going to have to go through the grass again if I want to search for Austria.

I rearrange myself in the tree branches, revealing a lot of aches I wasn't aware of earlier, and sit up. Grasping the edges of my left pants leg, I try to stuff it into my sock, but the leg isn't quite long enough.

"Hmm..."

I lean back a bit, unzip the bottom part of the cargo pants, and finally get the bottom stuffed into my sock, repeating the process with my right pants leg.

Well. It's not the most conventional method, but it works.

With a grunt, I slip myself out of the tree's branches, doing a quick survey of the area before I allow myself to stretch.

"Ah, I needed that," I yawn.

Moving a foot across the grass experimentally, I conclude my defence has worked aptly, and march through the rest of the crater. I just get to the wall when my stomach growls loudly.

"Aha..." I laugh weakly. I _am _pretty hungry, come to think of it. Sitting in a cramped tree all day and night isn't the best way to find a meal.

And nothing seems to be running around this crater for sure, so if I want to eat, I either have to go somewhere else or get something from my mentor.

I look up at the sky. It's still cloudy as ever, to the point I'm sure I couldn't pick out a parachute in the endless greyness.

So, no donations. Makes sense. I haven't exactly done anything yet.

That just means I have to head out, which I was planning to do, anyway.

_Clunk_!

I freeze and turn slowly to the side, eventually spotting a billowing parachute settling over its cargo. I rush over. Is it food? Or maybe water? I could definitely use some water, too; my tongue's so dry at this point it just feels like a wad of cotton in my mouth.

I squat down in the grass, just enough to reach the parachute but not enough to subject my unprotected shins to the grass. Carefully gripping the parachute, I lift it up, and the strings instantly come away, leaving my donation to be seen against the ground.

It's an iron frying pan.

Tossing the parachute away, I grasp the handle and lift the thing up. Sure enough, it's as it appears—a plain, metal frying pan with a long handle and a flat, circular bottom.

"It'd be nice to have some food to put in it!" I call to the sky, but I don't get any more parachutes floating my way.

Well. That's awfully nice of them, to give me something to lug around without any more food or water. I consider ditching the stupid, heavy thing right here and now, but I'm convinced it'll be useful later.

So, with a sigh, I lean it over my shoulder and start toward the mountain.

**Austrial Edel, District 8**

I'm really beginning to think this alliance isn't going that well, and it's becoming more and more obvious I'm an unwanted third wheel. I already knew Switz wasn't going to ally with me of his own accord, but his sister isn't paying much more attention to me than he is.

And _he_ is paying absolutely _no _attention to me. He's too busy treating Liet's leg every other second, and though he did attempt to give me some battle training, I apparently did so horribly he "won't bother trying it again". He actually _did _bother trying it again, but I didn't do much better.

"Wish we didn't lose those scissors," he grunts, trying to tear through a particularly stubborn white bandage. I could probably point out that he just changed the dressings a few minutes ago, and that he doesn't need to fix it now despite the spots of dirt it accumulated. But I'm sure he'd just glare at me like I'm an idiot and go back to struggling with his donated bandage.

He's gotten an awful lot of donations, actually. I suppose the audience must be going crazy for the "loving big brother" angle.

Then, why wouldn't they go for the "loving fiancé" angle? Surely they'd love that drama as well?

Maybe I'm just not playing it up enough. After all, I've only gone looking for her once in this mess, since she's much more likely to find me if I stay in one place.

But _is _she looking for me? I know her face didn't light up the sky last night, but there have been two cannons since...

B-But surely she's not dead. She can certainly fend for herself against the average tribute, and if she's received any sort of weapon, she could deal with a Career just as well.

So she must still be out there somewhere. I just have to go out and find her. But...

I look over at Switz and Liet, who have since finished bandaging and have broken out the deck of cards to fool around with.

I don't want to break this alliance. I already know there's no chance I'll survive on my own around here. If I leave these two, I'll be leaving myself defenceless until I find Veta. And if I don't find her... I'll stay defenceless. After all, Switz isn't likely to let me back into the alliance if I desert him.

So... I'll try to stay with them as long as I can. I suppose.

Stifling a sigh, I take a seat on the rocks next to the two. They continue playing their card game without even a glance of acknowledgement, and I expect they're not planning on including me any time soon.

Is staying here really the best option? ...Part of me would like to stay, until I find Veta. But the other part desperately wants to chase after her blindly and never cease until I find her.

The latter is what I really want to do. I... I just don't think it's possible.

Sighing mentally, I close my eyes and lean back. That's all just a dream for another day. All I need to do now is stick with these two until I find her... However long that may be... It already seems like an eternity...

Something lands lightly on my thigh, making me jump and flare my eyes back open. Adjusting my glasses back to their proper position, I make out a parachute—attached to some sort of box—crumpling to the side of my leg.

A donation?

I pluck the parachute away gently, revealing a bright red, heart-shaped box. Slipping my fingers underneath the lid, I open it, revealing a large handful of chocolates clustered to one side.

There's no way my mentor would send me something like this just for food.

Maybe... he wants me to go find Veta and give this to her. That would make sense... It's probably obvious by now that I've been considering leaving, but...

I glance back up at Switz and Liet, who glance up from their game long enough to figure out what I've gotten, then, at the older's instruction, both turn back away.

Is he suspicious of me? That maybe I convinced my mentor to send me a box of poisoned chocolates? It's a viable theory, I suppose...

...I still don't feel quite right about leaving. But it's obvious my mentor wants me to.

_She's near enough to find. Now go give her the chocolate and put on some romance, so I can get you some _real _donations._

It sounds just like him. But where do I look?

I check the insides of the box again. No note or anything—I don't think that would be allowed, anyway—just a bunch of individual truffles shoved to the left side of the box.

The left side...

I may not be interpreting this right, but my mentor knows what he's doing. He wouldn't send me anything erroneous...

My gaze drifts back over to Switz and Liet. Still watching, I experimentally stand up and take a few steps to my left, away from them. They don't notice. A few more steps. They still don't look up.

With a deep inhale, I turn around and bolt.

I'm on my way, Veta. I'm on my way.


	24. Aftermath

Author's Note: In other news, we were discussing an American author named Bierce or something, and they said all his works had horrible deaths of children and best friends and such, and my first reaction was, _That's awful! _But then I remembered I do the same thing in pretty much all of my stories... Whoops.

Recommended Listening: Who Can It Be Now by Men at Work

* * *

**Ciano Idalya, District 6**

With a tumbling leap, I fling myself over the crater's wall, rolling a few times into the grass before I finally stop. My breath comes out in huffs as I sit up, investigating my surroundings.

"Okay, Thew!" I call happily, waving an arm in the air. "I think we finally lost them!" I keep waving for a bit, but when I get no response, I put my hand down.

"Thew?" Struggling to stand up, I stumble over to the wall, peering out toward the mountainside.

"Thee-eew? Wh-where'd you go?" I look around quizzically for a few more moments, but still don't spot my ally. Well, where _did _he go? He was right behind me the whole time, wasn't he? I try to think back to the last time I saw him, but the last few minutes were in such a panicked blur, I can't figure it out.

"Th-Thew? …I-It's c-cold h-here." I zip up my jacket, but it doesn't help a bit with my shivering.

Well, if Thew isn't around here, I don't need to stay, right? So let's go find somewhere nicer.

Teeth chattering wildly, I throw my arms over the wall and barely manage to tug myself back over.

"Ve… I'm tired…" I slump back against the wall, looking around for Thew, but I still don't find him.

He… he _was _right behind me, wasn't he? I mean, he had to have run away from the scary Careers, or he'd get hurt!

Wait, he-he didn't get hurt, did he? I heard a cannon, but…

But…

Oh, no!

"Thew!" I wail. "I'm sorry…!"

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

I clamber around the stony path with trembling hands.

It still seems kind of weird how easy it was to kill the Twelve. Just a quick shove of the knife into his neck, and he was… dead. Just like that. I can't really say it was _sad_; it was just kind of… odd. I… wasn't quite sure what to make of it, really. I just vaguely figured that whatever that feeling was, it wasn't cheerful enough.

So, after watching the Twelve lying on the ground for a moment, I stooped over and carved a little happy face on his torso.

But the hovercraft plucked him away almost before I could stand back up, so I didn't get to see it that well.

Oh, well. I'll just have to find some fun elsewhere!

Humming a tune I've never heard before, I continue around the mountain.

Where should I go now? I'd like to try the crater with all the long grass again, but it's probably too cold for anyone not from District 9 to be camping out there. I think the Careers are on the very top of the mountain, so I probably shouldn't go there.

Hmm... Well...

I guess I'll just go anywhere! After all, I'll have to run into someone eventually, right?

I hope I do, anyway. I've barely starting having fun.

**Switz Wingly, District 7**

"Go fish!" Liet chirps. Leaning over to swipe a card away from the shrinking deck, I can't help but smile. To think my sister can really be this happy in the middle of the Hunger Games! I have to thank whoever thought to throw playing cards into that backpack.

"Um..." she starts, seeing me ready for the next move, "got any... eights?"

"Nope. Go fish."

"Aw!" she laughs, grasping a card from the pile. "Okay, your tur—" She cuts off abruptly, looking alarmed, and I instantly sweep the area. No one's in sight—while our current hideout among the rocks isn't that well-concealed, it's a good vantage point—so she couldn't be worried about that.

Wait—no one?

Dropping my hand, I stand up and survey our surroundings once more. No sign of anyone, including Austria.

"Where'd he go?" Liet starts tremulously, looking about wide-eyed.

"Don't know," I grumble, checking behind a particularly tall outcropping. No one. "But if someone got to him, we need to get out, now!"

My sister nods, and I kneel down to get her on my back before sprinting to the nearest crater, the lake.

I definitely didn't see anyone else around, but I'm not taking chances. Admittedly, Austria's not the best fighter, but if he's been taken down, we're likely to be next.

But... as we go further and further, I get the creeping feeling he wasn't taken. No cannons went off, so he wasn't killed. And he's pretty useless as far as labour goes.

Did he... abandon us? I know he was going to try and meet up with his girlfriend, but he couldn't be stupid enough to go off on his own!

Well, I guess he is. He's definitely cleared out. That _idiot_ left us behind, just like that!

Well, I'll tell you what, Austria. There won't be any mercy if you try to come crying back to me.

**Thew Canda, District 3**

I wake to a fiercely pounding headache that feels like hundreds of hockey pucks slamming into my skull full force. I try to move, but the resulting pain is too severe, keeping me locked in my crumpled position, a piece of forest grass scratching at my chin.

What... happened? I have blurred memories of a confrontation with a Career, but... it must have been a dream. No Career would capture me this easily without killing me. But... how else would I end up like this? I couldn't have fallen down the mountain, since my head's the only part of me that's throbbing like mad.

"...Ciano...?" My voice is so rough and garbled I can't recognise it. But I did make some sort of noise, so if Ciano's around, he should come, right?

But no footsteps thump toward me, and no human shadow comes to block the glare of the sun.

So is Ciano gone? I... I remember seeing him running, but... that was right before I fell into the Career's hands... Who was it...? Alf. The boy from 1.

But Alf, though he's not the bright one in the Career alliance, wouldn't be dumb enough to have just left me here, even if I looked dead. Even if he made the bet I think I remember him making, he'd still go ahead and finish me off, surely, until a cannon went off.

...Did a cannon go off? The Gamemakers know for sure whether I'm dead or alive, so they wouldn't make that kind of mistake. If a cannon went off, it wouldn't be for someone still living.

But, if someone was killed at the same time I was knocked out, and their cannon _did _go off... Alf would assume it was my cannon. That I was dead.

That... There's only a one-in-a-million chance of something like that happening, but... maybe it did.

It's the best I can think of, anyway.

The pain in my head—though still enough to make me feel sick—has lessened enough that I'm able to sit up, very slowly.

So... everyone thinks I'm dead? I could probably use that to my advantage, but... The dead will be shown at dusk, it's already midday, and I don't think my condition is going to improve enough in time.

Oh, well. I guess I'll just bide my time until I can find a safe hiding place in the forest.


	25. Fall

Recommended Listening: Give a Little Bit by Supertramp

* * *

**Veta Ungar, District 8**

This isn't going well. My ankles may have been all right for walking on the grass, but tromping up and down stones, and having to jump around, contorting my ankles every which way… It does _not _help with the pain. I've only been climbing for a few minutes, and I'm already about to give up.

But I can't stop now. I'm on the broad side of a mountain, with very little cover and a lot of people out to kill me.

And I still haven't found my fiancé.

I wonder how he's doing. Probably not well, but… I know I heard a few cannons since last night, but…

I guess I can only hope it wasn't for him.

…And hope that I'll find him in this mess.

I originally thought it'd be a breeze going around here, but the mountain's taller than it looks. Add that to my ankle injuries, and I'm not going to make much progress.

But that's all right. I'll just spend the rest of this day—a few more hours, by the looks of it—searching for him, and, if his face doesn't flash across the sky tonight, I'll keep looking. And I won't stop until I find him.

Or until I'm dead.

Preferably the first option.

I've gotten to a steeper part of the mountain, which strains my arms, but at least I don't have quite as much weight on my ankles. Having tucked the long handle of the frying pan into my waistband, I can find handholds on the rock easily. Footholds, not so much. I'm clinging too close to the rock to look anywhere but the plain rock face, and my ankles scream fiery objections every time I try to feel around for a spot.

But, I still have enough strength to keep pulling myself up, and I don't think the top of this face is far…

I place my left hand on a protrusion from the rock, but my handhold suddenly breaks away, leaving me to scrape my hand against the rough stone before frantically trying to find something else to hold onto.

But there's nothing within reach, and I find my right hand starting to lose its grip as well.

How far up am I? I can't look down; I can barely even look up. But I'm high up enough to break something—and any broken bone is going to be equivalent to death here.

I pat my left hand over the rock repeatedly, leaving small smears of blood, but I can't find any handholds. The other rock digs deeper into my right hand's fingertips, one of them about to slip away.

No! I can't-I can't die now! I-I never found... I... never found Austria...

But my right hand finally gives way, and, though I try to reach up, I don't meet any more rock—

—But I meet a hand.

I just register that someone has caught my wrist when I'm suddenly let down a few centimetres in a sharp jerk.

But I'm not let go. So whoever's holding me up wants me alive. That means it's not a Career...

But... who is it?

Another jolt sends me down a couple more centimetres, and I feel around with my empty hand—the left one—getting a grip on the rough stone.

Who's there?

I can't ask because my mouth is far too dry, and I'm still unable to look up toward my helper. All I can see is the rock face, the bump my left hand is latched onto, and my right hand inside the grasp of another hand.

I study the foreign hand for a second. It seems oddly familiar, but... It's a _hand. _They all pretty much look the same, don't they?

I'm let down another few centimetres, and the hand around my wrist slips ever so slightly, revealing its ring finger—and the thin, golden band around it.

And I suddenly understand why it seems familiar.

**Austria Edel, District 8**

I am very glad I broke the alliance with Switz and Liet. Had I not, I wouldn't have stumbled across Veta just in the nick of time, and she... she...

...I'd rather not finish that sentence.

But I'm still in a rather awkward position—I had to land on my stomach and splay my limbs out over the rocks to grab Veta's wrist in time—and I'd be lying if I said I was strong enough to pull her up myself.

But... if she helps herself up as well, I know we'll get her out of this.

**Gil Prus, District 10**

The Capitolgoers obviously have no idea what awesome is. I've probably lost half my blood already, and the only donation I've gotten is a measly roll of gauze that's completely soaked through the second I wrap it around my stomach.

_Idiots! _What is _wrong _with you? Not only have I shown my awesomeness in interviews and training—an eight, people, an _eight_!—I just killed a _Career_! What useless, crappy tributes are you all wasting your money on?

Oh, I bet you must be sending it to Eights. Because they're so freaking _cute_! Ugh! Makes me _sick _how stupid these people are. I mean, the Austria guy got a four in training. Why would you even _think _about spending your money on him? I mean, sure, his fiancée kicks some butt, but it's obvious she's gonna be too busy mooning over him to fight for herself.

You're—all—_idiots_! Stop throwing your donations at that _stupid_ couple and give your cash to someone who might actually win this thing!

Well, I'll win if I actually get some freaking donations. Do you all seriously expect me to fight when my stomach's bleeding out and my left shoulder's so cut up I can't move my arm?

Just send your freaking donations to someone who _will use them_! Okay? Yeah, I'm the awesomest tribute here, but I still need some crap to heal me, or—

_Thunk! _Finding a parachute next to me, I pluck the billowing cloth away to reveal some higher-grade bandages.

About time!

**Vivi Daley, District 1**

It's ridiculous how we're all letting Alf eat as much as he wants to. We do have a lot of sponsors, but squandering enough food to feed a small nation every single day? He can't honestly expect to keep this up.

He's yet to show _any_ signs of intelligence. Though he has enough of a brain to kill other tributes, he apparently doesn't have enough to realise he can't get as many kills if he always stomps around in broad daylight. He acts as if all the others are just going to jump straight into his hands to be killed.

Things don't work like that here. One must also possess a certain amount of acumen to survive the Games, though I can't say it hurts to be as strong as him—which is, undoubtedly, the only reason none of the other Careers have gotten around to killing him yet.

But I'm quite sure we've all thought about it. Lude's more hostile toward him than anyone else—though he's still unsympathetic toward all of us—but Japan's stayed fairly silent about any harm toward the 1, so I can't be sure he's considered it.

But I know I have. Oh, how I would love to dig my blade into his flesh, hack away those monstrous limbs of his, rip his heart from his mutilated chest, leave every separated bit of him strewn about the ground, shining with crimson blood…

…But I can't.

Not yet.


	26. Conclusion: Alf's Still an Idiot

Author's Note: In other news, I've officially stopped replying to reviews. So even if I don't tell it to you personally, I really do love your input, all right? :3

Hmm, it seems I haven't been providing many deaths in the last few chapters... That may have to change soon... *deep evil laughter*

Recommended Listening: One Thing Leads to Another by The Fixx

* * *

**Veta Ungar, District 8**

We're safe. It took a lot more time and discomfort than I would opt for, but that's okay. I'm finally off that rock face. Sitting here in the twilight next to my fiancé. Sheltered among the smooth bumps of an outcropping. Safe.

Well, safe enough. While the Careers are sure to be looking for us, we're not going to be in plain sight. And while the only thing we've had to eat was half a box of chocolates and a small sandwich from sponsors, we're still not going to bed on completely empty stomachs.

And we're not too awfully scraped up, either. My left palm's missing some skin and my right has a few scratches from its contact with the rock face. Austria's a little weak and worn down, but doesn't have any mentionable injuries. And then, of course, there are my ankles. Funny thing, though. When I slipped the legs of my pants up to show my fiancé the damage, the scratches and the inflammation were… gone. Just disappeared. But when I said it hurt like mad despite, he still believed me.

I have to wonder if there's any significance to that... But it's probably nothing. I'd do better to concern myself with what's going on right now.

Luckily that's not much. Just me and my fiancé, enjoying the brief flash of sunset this arena has, waiting for nightfall and whatever may come with it.

**Japan Hond, District 4**

"So, we'll sleep first, changing watches, and then go on the hunt," Vivi concludes, though the irritated twitch of her eyelids indicates she'd probably rather hunt all night.

I finish the last bite of my donated supper of fried fish before responding. "Yes, that sounds good. Especially since someone may have figured out our schedule last night."

Alf adds something, but his voice is too garbled by his mouthful of food for any of us to understand him.

"Could you repeat that?" I ask slowly, trying not to sound condescending.

Alf nods, swallows what he's been chewing, and starts, "I _said_—" before shoving more meat into his mouth and returning his speech to unintelligibility.

"Why are you even here?" Vivi starts acrimoniously, watching Alf with her eyes narrowed to slits. "I don't understand why the Tribute Training Facility would ever let you into the Games." She huffs. "While you _have_ gotten the occasional kill, you're really nothing but a burden. You're completely lacking in common sense—let alone tactics—you do almost nothing but gorge yourself on our supplies, and you're—you're just seriously undertrained."

Alf shrugs. "Well, what do you expect? I've only been a Career for, like, six months."

This statement draws a sudden silence.

"Six months?" Lude finally echoes. "You've only trained for six months, yet you've been let in here?" he continues, his voice morphing into a growl.

"Uh, yeah. Some other guys volunteered, but they just ended up beating each other up."

Lude scoffs. "District 1 has one uncivilised Career program."

Alf only frowns the slightest bit, and when I snatch a glance toward Vivi, she doesn't seem to care much, either. I suppose they must agree.

"Well, civilised or not, it doesn't matter!" Alf announces. "All that matters is I'm here now—" he stands up in an exaggerated victory pose—"and I can be the hero!" He holds his pose, although Vivi is staring unamusedly and Lude and I don't look that pleased, either.

"Hero," Lude finally starts, in a tone that's probably as close to laughter as he gets. "This is the Hunger Games. There are no heroes. Only survivors."

"Uh… No," Alf responds, plopping himself down into a seated position, "there're heroes. If you win, you bring fame and fortune and stuff to the district, right? That seems heroic to me."

I find myself agreeing with a brisk nod.

"Anyway," Vivi starts slowly, folding her arms delicately, "I think it's about time we arranged the—"

She's cut off by the sudden boom of the Panem anthem. "Watches!" she reiterates, raising her voice to accommodate the new noise. "First should be—"

Though she can be heard over the final parts of the anthem now, she's interrupted again by a sudden shriek. I snap my gaze toward Alf, who's still making inarticulate scared noises as he points toward one of the savannah trees.

"It's a ghost!" he wails, suddenly ducking to hide behind me. I try to nudge him away, but he has too strong a grip on the back of my jacket.

Instead I survey the tree, and figure out what he had been pointing at.

"Alf. That's a parachute." His shaking doesn't cease, but he peeks out from behind me.

"…Really?"

I try not to sigh, and I motion at the "ghost", which is still flapping halfheartedly in an uneven breeze. "Yes, really. See? It's just caught on a tree branch."

Alf gives a weak laugh and backs away. "I, uh, knew that. I was just… testing you! Yeah!"

"Did your 'testing us' have to interrupt the death toll?" Lude responds with a glare. "Look! We missed all of them but that boy from 12."

"Well, they'll all be dead later, anyway, so what's it matter?" Alf proposes.

Lude, though he looks to be fighting the impulse to strangle Alf, just sighs. "Go to bed. I'm taking first watch."

" 'Kay."

**Thew Canda, District 3**

While it's still obvious things aren't all sparkles and rainbows, my head does seem to be a bit better. It continues pounding like no tomorrow, but after the tiny pill I got as a donation, it's not enough to keep me bedridden.

So I left the forest. After all, the death toll's about to start, and they're not going to think I'm dead when the sky says I'm not.

But, among my laboured clambering, I get disorientated. Is it my headache, or just the arena? All I know is I'm going upward... I think...

And soon I come up to a crater wall. I peep over the edge and realise this isn't empty. In fact, it's almost filled with tributes.

Career tributes.

I'm about to tumble back away when a sharp scream rips through the air. Held captive by my curiosity, I stay frozen, keeping myself hidden but able to see the scene.

The scream, surprisingly, had come from Alf. He's now cowering behind another of the tributes and blubbering on about ghosts.

_What_? Big, bad Alf, who can kill a man with his bare hands—no, _one _bare hand—is scared of _ghosts_? I almost have to hit myself to keep from bursting out laughing. Ghosts! How ridiculous! Of all things for Mr. Superhero to be scared of, he chooses _ghosts_! Wow. Just… wow. That's unbelievable. Maybe this guy isn't so tough after all.

I glance back over the scene, where another Career is yelling at Alf for interrupting the death count with his episode.

It's just ridiculous. I never would have expected something so trivial, harmless to be such a phobia for a guy like him—

Wait.

Alf… is afraid of ghosts.

And… he thinks… I'm dead.

A smile slowly creeps over my face as I start to form my plan.

First, I need to see when his night watch is…


	27. Sweet Dreams

thor's Note: Hello, all! I started a poll on my profile page about who you want to win-so please vote! A few characters' fates are indeed carved in stone (which is why you can choose up to 3 characters), but I'd still like to know what you'd like to happen. :3

In other news, I ran around in grass today, and now my ankles are broken out. I feel like this is some sort of karma for what I did to Veta...

Recommended Listening: (I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight by The Cutting Crew

* * *

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

It's kind of sad that I haven't found anyone yet—how am I supposed to have fun without any other tributes to compete with? It's getting late, though, and I'm sleepy enough to start stumbling over pebbles, so I decide to go ahead and rest for the night.

Where do I want to stay? Not just out in the open. That's definitely no fun. But a lot of the craters aren't much fun, either...

I decide to find that grassy crater. I already know I can stay hidden in it, and it's... familiar.

A few sleepy stumbles later, I'm back in the closest thing to home I have here. It seems a lot colder than it was before, but maybe it's just me being all sweaty. Either way, it's really getting chilly, so, tucking my knife away in a separate swath of grass, I wrap myself up snugly. Just like I was when...

Just like I was last night.

This time, though, I'm looking up at the sky, where the tributes' faces are flashing by.

First is the girl from 2, sneering down at me. Then... the-the girl from 9. My... sister. She looks really happy... Not like... the last time I saw her face.

It... It's really kind of nice what they do with the death toll, isn't it? Because... the last time you see someone, that's usually what you remember. And thanks to the Gamemakers, I get to see my sister smiling cheerfully one last time.

Then she flickers away, gone forever, and the boy from 12 pops up. He's not smiling.

Hmph. He was really trying to ruin the fun of the Games with all of his grumpiness. It's a good thing he's gone. Because now it can all be happier!

His face disappears, replaced by the Capitol seal and one last boom of the anthem before the sky fades back to black.

Well, I guess that means it's time to sleep!

I tuck myself a little tighter into the grass and doze off easily.

**Thew Canda, District 3**

Crouched behind a boulder that's obscured me for the past minute or so, I pat on the last of the flour.

Well, something similar to flour. It looks and feels the same, but it's probably not edible; any kind of food the size of the bag the parachute dropped down would be too expensive. Especially after most of my donations were squandered on my former ally's eating habits.

_Well_, I think, blowing a stray clump of the white stuff off my glasses, _let's see who's on watch_.

I slip back toward the crater wall—I couldn't have stayed near the Career camp when parachutes were raining toward me, or I'd have given myself away—and peer over the ridge.

Just my luck—Alf's the one standing, his glasses glinting in the moonlight every time he sweeps the area. He's guarding a carefully stacked hoard of crates and burlap sacks—from the look of it, most are full of food, and some medical supplies—and the rest of the Careers are in dreamland closer to the centre of the crater. Alf and the pile of goods are more toward the rocky wall, though they're both still a good ten metres away from me.

All right... Am I ready? I'm pale from the powder, and wearing the tattered, threadbare, white, toga-ish cloth—another donation—over my arena outfit. What else would make a ghost look like a ghost? Nothing I can think of.

With an audible inhale, I slink over the ridge as silently as possible and tiptoe slowly toward Alf. He doesn't have any weapons—good, since just his fists won't be able to reach me for a while—and he hasn't noticed me yet. Keeping to the circumference, I dare to make a little more noise and let the tall grass start to rustle under my footfalls.

Alf looks toward me.

I freeze, but he's only just starting to react: eyes flaring wide open, his taut form taking a step back. He's made no move to attack or warn the others.

Of course, if he screams again...

"Don't wake the others up," I start, my voice soft as always, though it seems too loud in this utter silence. "This is between you and me."

Alf nods quickly, and then scuttles back a few more steps when I start toward him again.

Wow. This is really terrifying him, isn't it? It's seriously starting to amuse me, but—I can't just stand here and laugh. I have to finish things.

I take another step closer, trying to keep a serious, intimidating look on my face.

"Y-You're," Alf starts, in some sort of whimpery shriek, "that—y-you-you're that-that kid from 3!"

Wow. He doesn't even know my name?

"Yes," I reply evenly, narrowing my eyes to look hostile. "The kid _you_ killed."

"I'm sorry!" Alf immediately starts blubbering. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—" he cuts off, realising he's getting too loud—"sorry," he finishes in a whimper. "P-please don't hurt me!"

I chuckle, trying to sound sinister but not doing a very good job of it. "Oh, I'll do worse than hurt you…"

And then it hits me. I have no weapon. I can't take one from Alf, since he doesn't have one—and when I cast a careful glance toward the pile he was guarding, nothing sharp can be made out.

And it's not like I could take him with my bare hands...

C-crap! I-I got too caught up in all the props and theatrics I skimped over the most important part!

_Crap! _I'm just so used to planning things and not doing them. I-I was unprepared for... for actually being able to do something, and... I didn't plan.

I look back over at the cowering, trembling mass of tribute in front of me. I may not be able to kill him now, but...

"Yes," I go on, "I'll do much worse than just hurt you. I'll drag you down into the depths of hell myself." I grin wryly. "You'd be surprised just how easy that is for a ghost." Alf makes a startled whimpering sound and takes a miniature step back.

"But," I continue, "I won't do it now. Oh, no. I'm not that kind." I take a step toward him, and he scrambles back, butting against the crater wall.

"I'll make you wait. You'll never know just when I decide to—" I lunge toward him in time with my next word—"strike!" Alf flails back, stumbling over the bottom of the ledge and tumbling to the ground.

"But you _will _know," I continue, stepping forward until I'm standing above him, "that you will die. I promise you that."

Alf's just staring up at me speechlessly, starting to hyperventilate.

Well... He seems aptly terrified, and that's all I can think of saying, so... Time to make my exit.

I take a few steps back, keeping an eye on Alf. He just sits there stiffly, gasping down ragged, quick breaths. Not taking my gaze off him, I pad to the edge of the crater wall and throw one arm over.

This admittedly isn't the most convincingly ghostly thing I've done, but flying away and/or disappearing isn't really in my repertoire at the moment.

"Goodbye, Alf Meric... For now," I finish, sweeping myself over the ridge as gracefully as possible.

I've only clambered down about a metre when I hear an acutely loud wail—

"Oh, my _God!_"


	28. Decision

Author's Note: Please review~! I really love all of your comments.

Recommended Listening: All That Really Matters by Journey

* * *

**Switz Wingly, District 7**

The two small eggs, our alliance's pitiful excuse for breakfast this morning, sizzle weakly on the sun-baked rock beneath them. I poke at the eggs, and then, satisfied I don't need to keep a watchful eye on them, turn my gaze back toward the lake. While the jagged wall of stone separates me from the water and, more importantly, my sister, there wasn't any hope of food inside the crater. I didn't stray far—there are a few scrubby excuses for trees along the mountain—and I at least got us a little bit of food, so... It's better than nothing.

I turn back to the rocks and prod the eggs again.

"...Switz?" a sleepy voice calls. I jump to my feet and step over to the rocky wall.

"I'm here."

"Okay..." My sister, who had been lying across the thin shoreline to sleep, sits up and yawns. "Good morning!"

"Good morning." I nod back to where the eggs are still cooking. "Breakfast'll be ready in just a minute."

"Okay." Liet gets up and leans over the ledge, spotting the aforementioned breakfast. "Just one egg each, then?"

"Ah! No," I start, walking over to the makeshift stove. "They're both for you."

"Oh?" Liet cocks her head to the side. "What about you?"

"I already ate."

"Oh, okay," she replies, sounding like she believes me.

I have to wonder, though, if she really does. I've pulled that excuse several times—with just District 7 salaries, there were too many mouths to feed at home, but I always made sure she had her share. Even if I hadn't had my own.

_Clink!_

My head snaps to the side, where, instead of the enemy I expected, I see a parachute.

Carefully lifting it away, as if it could be some sort of trap, I reveal a plate with enough cheese and crackers for a good one-person meal.

"Oh! We got a donation!" Liet chirps, scuffling over to the dish.

"Yeah." I pick one of the crackers up and turn back toward my little sister. "More for us to share."

**Ciano Idalya, District 6**

I stare down at the empty plate mournfully. My donated meals have shrunk and shrunk, and now I'm always hungry.

And I miss my ally. I'm really really glad he's okay, but... I want him back. It's really lonely out here...

A scuffling in the bushes snatches my attention away from my thoughts. I turn toward the source slowly, not sure if I had imagined it or not. The bushes rustle again. I stand up and start to back away, bumping into the Corncucopia before the bushes suddenly split open. I scuffle away, toward the far edge of the meadow, while two... dogs? emerge from the gap.

Pressed up against the crater's edge, I watch curiously as the dogs—who are about half as tall as me—pace forward slowly. The morning sun illuminates their light brown fur and their glittering, black eyes—aimed toward me.

"Um... Good doggie?" The two stop in their tracks, pricking their fuzzy ears up and continuing to stare me down. We all stand frozen for a few seconds, and then, with a throaty growl, the dogs lunge suddenly.

With an exclamation, I heave myself over the wall, narrowly avoiding a set of snapping jaws, and start running blindly ahead. Rocks jut out along my path, but I'm able to scrabble over them before the dogs come after me.

After hurling myself over another outcropping, I risk a quick glance back at the dogs. They're still behind, but... have they gotten closer?

Either way, I'm still running. Because these guys are scary, and I don't want to run into scary things!

**Lude Ermany, District 2**

"Yes," Vivi spits at Alf, "of _course _he's going to kill you—not! He's already _dead! _How is he supposed to even touch you? Idiot!"

I continue polishing my morningstar, trying to block out the pointless argument that's already been going on far too long.

"I'm gonna die!" Alf wails for the upteenth time. "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna d—"

"Shut _up _or I'll do the honours _right now_!" I finally interrupt, glaring at Alf. He manages to shut his mouth—for once in his life—though he continues trembling.

"I suggest we continue our hunt," Japan starts. "Since we didn't find anyone last night..."

"Agreed," Vivi replies, smiling slightly at the thought of more blood.

"Yeah," Alf starts, looking about back to normal. "I—" He cuts off with a sudden shriek, jumping up in the air. "He's here!"

"No, he's not, Alf," Japan sighs, quickly surveying the area. "If you're going to be acting like this, you shouldn't come hunt with us."

"Agreed," Vivi repeats hostilely, crossing her arms. "Let's ship off now. Lude, are you ready?"

I grunt a confirmation and stand.

"You can't just leave me behind!" Alf protests. "I mean, I'm a Career, to—Ohmygod!" He jumps back from us. It takes me a second to realise he'd reacted this way to a twig snapping in front of him.

"Yeah..." Vivi glares, then turns her back to him pointedly. "We're leaving now." She flips herself over the savannah crater's edge, and Japan and I do the same.

"Where shall we start?" Japan begins, surveying the mountainside.

"Hmm..." Vivi and I scan the area for a moment.

"Ah!" Vivi starts, pointing down to below the swamp crater. "Another tribute!" Without another word, she takes off in that direction, Japan behind her and me bringing up the rear.

We're making good progress, even though the tribute below is moving around the mountain at a particularly quick pace. A while before we get to the tribute, though, I notice something else, something the tribute must be fleeing from.

Dingoes.

Well, something similar to dingoes, at least—probably some sort of Capitol mutt versions, considering their unearthly amount of razor-sharp teeth.

Well, mutt or not, they're making good progress in the tribute's direction. They'd easily catch up and finish him themselves, but Vivi won't let that happen. She just has to dig her own nails into all the corpses.

Finally, we near the tribute enough for me to make him out—and I almost stop in my tracks.

It's Ciano.

But I don't stop. He'll get eaten by the mutts if I don't intervene.

—What am I thinking? "Friend" or not, he's another tribute. He has to die. There's no use in saving him now.

I continue after the other Careers to find that Vivi has already eliminated one of the dingoes—I'm assuming it had turned on her—and is quite ready to take on the second. Japan is pulling up ahead of her, still in pursuit of Ciano.

I overtake Vivi as she slays the second dingo. She follows me without hesitation.

Japan catches up with Ciano, pinning him inescapably against a boulder. Now Vivi and I catch up.

"Please don't hurt me!" Ciano wails, unable to struggle from Japan's hold. "I-I'll do anything!"

Vivi scoffs. "We don't want anything from you but your blood." She raises her blade to strike, but suddenly falters, dropping her sickle to the stone with a clang. Japan turns his head, and we both see for the first time a horrible-looking bite wound on her shoulder. She must have gotten it in her fight with the mutts.

Japan turns back to his prey, raising a blade—which is considerably smaller than his swords—toward the pinned tribute.

"Help!" Ciano continues tearfully. He cranes his neck a little, looking me in the eye. "L-Lude! Please help me!"

Japan turns his head toward me curiously, pausing in his kill for a moment.

I... could take him. Just him and an injured Vivi, and I could save this scrap of a tribute. I mean, I haven't known Ciano long, but he's a likable enough guy to...

...Who am I kidding? Japan is faster than me. If I turn on him, he'd see it coming and kill me first.

So, I'll... I'll leave well enough alone...

"Here." I draw back when Japan holds his knife, handle forward, to me. "Why don't you claim this kill?"

I take the knife experimentally, and Japan draws back, just enough to continue pinning down the sobbing Ciano. I stare at the knife uncomprehendingly.

"What's wrong, Lude?" Vivi starts with a small laugh. "Don't want to kill your little buddy?"

I look back down at Ciano, who's almost crying and sniffling too much to say anything. "L-Lude," is all he can quite eke out.

I stare back at the knife in my hand.

I... I could always try taking on the others, but... I know I could barely get out alive in a fight with Japan, let alone Vivi...

But... This snivelling, powerless tribute before me... I really did start to like him.

I glance back at the other Careers. In theory, it's their lives, or his.

But I'm not strong enough to take them both. And if I spare Ciano, they wouldn't hesitate to kill me.

So, really... It's his life, or mine.

"..."

I grit my teeth, staring down at the knife.

"Goodbye, friend."

I slash the knife, and the cannon fires.


	29. Crossing Paths

Author's Note: OH MY CHICKEN-FRIED CHICKEN. I almost had a spaz attack with all the reviews last chapter. So thank you very much~! Digital cookies to all reviewers!

And even more so than that: if this story gets just two more reviews, it will officially be my most reviewed story, EVER. Which is amazing.

I'd really like to reward you all for all of your hard work R&Ring, past the digital cookies with no definite flavour. So here's my proposition: if this fic recieves 100 reviews overall, I will write whatever story each of the top 5 reviewers wants. Seriously. If we actually get to that point (which would be a-bleeding-MAZING), I'll specify some rules, but, for now... There's your incentive to comment. Hehe.

Recommended Listening: Roll With the Changes by REO Speedwagon

* * *

**Veta Ungar, District 8**

I spin the frying pan's handle in my palms. Although I've been on watch for a while, all I've seen was the sun beginning to peek over the horizon, and Austria's fingers drumming on the ground while he sleeps. I suppose they're trying to play out a tune on the ivories—but this place holds no instrument for them.

As if realising that, they stop their playing, and Austria starts to wake.

"Morning, sleepyhead," I comment, smiling as he—looking a bit disorientated—opens his eyes.

"Morning…" He stirs, sitting up and sweeping some dirt off him. "Where…?" He adjusts his glasses and looks around our shallow grotto.

"Same place as yesterday," I answer, seating myself next to him.

"Ah, right…" He trails off in a yawn, covering his mouth. "I don't suppose we've gotten any breakfast?"

"Nope. No luck." Austria sighs a bit.

"Oh, no worries," I respond, entwining my fingers with his. "If we don't get anything, we could always try to hunt."

"Emphasis on 'try'," he replies with a small grin. I smile back at him, and, with a relaxed sigh, look down at our hands. Mine's a bit tanner than his. I suppose it's because, being better off, I got to hang around outside more often than him.

I shift my fingers a little, and both our rings come into view, gleaming in the faint morning light. Oh, the rings. I can't help but think of all the awkwardness we had to go through to get them.

* * *

_The door opens, setting off a few tinkling bells, and I lead Austria into the store._

_"Veta," he starts, "while I certainly appreciate your offer, I really couldn't—"_

_"Oh, nonsense," I interrupt. "I already know you can't afford to buy one. And I have enough money for two, so…" I shrug. "No big deal."_

_Austria glances over at the glass boxes—filled with several shimmering rings with any and every type of gem embedded in them._

_"I still don't quite feel right about this," he concedes, looking back at me._

_"Oh, quit worrying. It's fine. Now…" I spin around dramatically, facing away from the jewelry. "Go pick one out. I won't look, so it'll still be a little bit of a surprise."_

_I can tell Austria has to stifle a laugh. "Okay."_

_An hour or so and a pretty penny later, we're back outside the store, Austria gripping a small, black box in one hand as he leads me further into town with his other._

_"Where are we going?" I start, though I'm too excited about what I know is coming to really care._

_"Where do you think?" my boyfriend replies._

_We continue down the street, turning several of the road's twisting corners before Austria comes to a stop._

_I observe the store front—letters painted over glass that just obscures the piano behind it—before turning back to my boyfriend, who's begun to kneel down._

_"It might be a silly question at this point, but…" He holds up the box toward me, opening it so I can make out the gleaming ring inside. "Veta, will you marry me?"_

_"Of course I will," I reply, unable to stop my smile from spreading._

_Austria stands and, with a little fumbling of his suddenly skillless fingers, places the ring around my finger. It's a simple, golden band, with one twist in the center that underscores the glittering, clear gem above it._

_"Good choice," I say, admiring the ring for a moment before turning to admire my boyfriend—no, my fiancé._

_"All right, then, Mrs. Veta," he starts with a smile, entwining his hand in mine, "where to now?"_

_"Um…" I'm so jubilant I can barely put coherent thoughts together. "Let's go… pick out a wedding dress!"_

_"What?" he asks incredulously, though I can tell he wouldn't mind._

_"You heard me; let's go!"_

* * *

I was so excited; I could hardly believe I was really going to marry him.

And then it hits me.

I can't marry him.

Even if one of us gets out of the Games alive... Only one of us gets out of the Games alive.

Oh, my God…

"Veta?" I wrench my gaze from our hands to Austria's face. "What's wrong?"

"I…" I stare back down at our hands, unable to meet his gaze for some reason. "I just realised… we… won't be able to get married…"

Austria seems to reflect on this warily for a moment before an unexpected smile starts to creep across his face.

"Who says we won't?"

**Thew Canda, District 3**

_Crack!_ The sharp rock in my hand bangs against the stones as the snake dodges. Panting, I retreat a few steps and watch my lost breakfast disappear back into the rocks.

Crap. That's probably the only food I'm going to find. Especially with the steady return of my headache—it's bad enough to make even the cool temperature around the swamp crater unbearable. And don't even mention the pounding it causes from even the slightest movement.

It's not fun. And I'm getting the creeping suspicion I'm not going to get any more painkillers donated.

Especially after how badly I screwed up last night. Alf had better be having some wicked sort of psychological breakdown right now, or I've undoubtedly lost all of my sponsors.

Which, of course, means I won't get any food donated, either. So, nothing to eat, because I screwed up earlier, and because I can't do anything now because I can't get any food.

I really hate the Hunger Games.

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

I'm starting to regret coming back to the grassy crater. I didn't get much sleep last night because it was so _cold_. While I'm used to freezing temperatures at home, I've never faced anything this bad without a blanket, or at least a sister to curl up next to.

But, I mean, it waasn't _too _bad. Sure, I didn't get anything close to a good night's sleep, but... It kept me awake enough to keep an eye out for Careers, right? So, that's good! They didn't come by last night, but if they did, I definitely would have heard them. And that's definitely a good thing.

I'm still really sleepy, though.

By now, I've made my way out of the crater and across the rocks, and the temperature's shot up to something more manageable. I yawn. I guess I could go to sleep right now...

Oh, but if another tribute comes by while I'm asleep, I won't be able to kill him!

Well, phooey. That's no fun, no fun at all.

I'll just stay awake, then. And if I _do _come across another tribute, I _will _get to have some fun!


	30. I Do

Author's Note: A mildly depressing thing has happened to me. Hopefully it won't affect my work. Feel free to tell me if I screw things up.

Recommended Listening: White Wedding by Billy Idol

* * *

**Austria Edel, District 8**

Veta checks around the corner one last time for any other tributes before turning back toward me. She clasps my hands, her twitching mouth evidence she's suppressing a giggle fit.

"I can't believe we're really going to do this," she starts, the words coming almost too fast for me to understand them.

"Well," I start with a sly smile, "if you'd rather not..."

"Of course I want to!" she responds immediately. "It just seems so silly, right in the middle of the Hunger Games... But don't get me wrong! I definitely, _definitely_want to do this."

"All right, then. How shall we start?"

"Um..." She looks down at her feet and laughs. "We've been planning it for three months, and I don't think we ever figured a way to start it off."

"Well... We could always skip straight to the vows."

"Ah, I guess so. But..." She shuffles her feet a bit. "Don't we need to have someone read from the wedding book? Or whatever that is?"

"This isn't exactly a conventional wedding, Veta."

"That's true," she laughs, looking back up at me. "So... how do the vows start again?" We stare at each other for a moment, both obviously unsure, and then Veta bursts out laughing. "We never figured that out, either? What have we been _doing _the past three months?"

I think carefully. "Picking out a dress and a cake. And some tablecloths, if I remember correctly."

She continues her badly stifled laughter, and I chuckle a bit myself.

"Well... Let's see... What _do _we know of the vows, then?" she proposes. "Um... 'In sickness and in health'...? Isn't there an 'in sickness and in health' part?"

"I think so..." I trail off laughing. "All right, what else...?" We pause in thought, though we don't quite stop laughing. "'For richer and for poorer'?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's part of it," Veta agrees. "Um..."

"I think that's enough."

"Okay, yeah, that's enough." She laughs. "Who goes first?"

"I'll let you," I reply, taking off my ring and putting it into the palm of her hand. She does the same, while I take a deep breath before starting. "Do you, Veta Ungar, take… _me _to be your lawfully wedded husband, to… have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, so long as we both shall live?"

"I do.' She twirls the ring around in her fingers before starting. "And do you, Austria Edel, take me to be your lawfully wedded wife…" She trails off, staring at me.

"'To have and to hold'," I prompt.

"Right, right!" She clears her throat before continuing, "To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer… so long as we both shall live?"

"I do."

Veta looks at the ring in her hand. "These are next, right?"

"Yes. I… can't quite recall at the moment what we're supposed to say, but…"

"Oh, it's the thought that counts," she laughs, gripping my ring carefully around the edges. "I'll go first."

I spread my hand out, like I'm about to play a piano chord, and she slips the ring over my finger easily. She then follows my example, and her ring is soon in its proper place as well.

My eyes turn up from her fingers to her smiling face. "I now pronounce us man and wife."

Her grin spreads. "You may now kiss the bride."

And I do just that.

**Gil Prus, District 10**

This. Is. Not. Awesome!

I hurl myself over the boulder, banging my ribcage against the stone, but I keep on running.

That little son of a—!

The sharp points veer down, digging yet again into my injured shoulder before suddenly pulling away. I snap my gaze upward, but the stupid eagle thing has darted back up into the sky and back out of range.

Why did it have to be a freaking bird? Anything on the ground—_anything!—_and I'd slash it to pieces easy. But this stupid, oversized bird keeps jerking out of range before I can stab it.

Rocks clatter under my feet as I continue my running. But it still fails to dissuade the bird, who dives down for a nip at my arm before veering straight up.

"Screw you!"

I jump over another rock, and suddenly, my feet meet grass. My ankles falter, and I'm sent sprawling into the wavy stuff when I suddenly start shivering.

The heck? It was perfectly warm, like, half a second ago.

I sit up, my grip on the knife almost compromised by my shaking, and look for the bird.

It's gone.

"The _crap_?"

I stand up, searching all around, but the bird is nowhere in sight.

"…Yeah! You'd better run!" I shout, pumping my knife into the air.

I flop over in the grass panting. It's way too freaking cold in here, but I'm way too freaking tired to move.

That—stupid—unawesome—bird! I _dare _the stupid thing to come back! If it gives me a real chance to kill it, I'll do it.

But he won't come back—and deep down, with all my injuries, I know I really don't want him to.

"S-S-S-Screw y-y-you, ya d-d-dumb b-b-bird..."

**Switz Wingly, District 7**

Liet swirls her fingers through the line of pebbles surrounding the lake and sighs.

"What's wrong?" I pause. "Besides the obvious, I mean."

"Oh, nothing." She makes another circle in the pebbles before drawing her finger back and flicking the water off it. "I just... I-I kind of wish we could've kept the cards," she finishes quickly.

"Yeah? Me, too." While the cards aren't exactly on the top of my list at the moment, I'm not lying. After we had assured that no one was after us, we went back to find the deck, but it was gone. Probably blown away by the wind.

I look over at my sister, who has wrapped her arms over her knees. She stares off across the blue crater toward nothing in particular.

I scoot closer and put an arm over her shoulder.

"I'm guessing that's not all on your mind."

"Not really..." She shuffles her feet back a little—they had been sliding into the water—before turning to look at me. "You're... not planning to win the Games, are you?"

I meet her worried gaze for a moment before turning toward the pier and hugging her a little closer. "...No. Not the way... Not the way the Capitol wants me to. But, if you live... I'll have won. On my own terms."

She rubs her hands on her knees a few times before suddenly pivoting around, throwing her arms around me, and burying her face in my chest.

"I-I don't want you to die! I—I—" She trails off into sobbing.

Rubbing a hand over her back, I keep her close.

"...It's all right... I won't die anytime soon. Okay?"

All she can reply with is a muffled array of tearful sounds.

"It's all right..."

—And then, just over her continuous weeping, I hear a clatter.

Looking up but not loosening my grasp, I look around. Liet, sensing this somehow, removes her face from its hiding place and monitors the area tiredly.

"It's..." she starts, cutting off her sentence when she realises she can't quite talk over her crying yet.

"...Yeah. It might be a mutt," I respond, keeping my voice low as the brown creature steps closer to the crater wall and us. "You're going to get back on my back, and we're going to run, okay?"

"Mmm-hmm," she replies, having difficulty getting even something with that level of articulation out. She loosens her grasp around me only to tighten it again once she's positioned on my back. Standing up, I keep an eye on the animal—more specifically, some sort of pony. It comes a bit closer, sticking its head over the edge of the lake crater, but it doesn't charge.

"Ready?" I whisper.

"...Uh-huh."

Without another word, I leap over the ridge and sprint away, praying that no matter what happens to me, this thing won't attack my sister.


	31. Let's Go

Author's Note: This chapter's a bit slow. Hopefully it's not that bad.

Recommended Listening: I Want a New Drug by Huey Lewis

* * *

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

I think I might be lost. I haven't been climbing around that much since I'm so sleepy, but... I can't see any craters from here... can I?

Leaning over a jutting rock, I survey the scene beneath me. Rocks, rocks, the occasional scruffy little tree, more rocks... Oh! There's my crater, over there. And... something's in it. Is it a person or just a mutt?

Well, only one way to find out!

**Thew Canda, District 3**

I'm very convinced I don't have sponsors. Because if I had sponsors, I would either have food to give me the energy I desperately need, water to stop my throat's current transformation into chafing cement, or pills to stifle the recurring headache that's about to swallow me whole.

I think the last of my needs is the most obvious to the audience. Firstly, my vision has deluded me into seeing sunlight far brighter than anything I would dare expose my eyes to in any other situation. But I have to here, because if I slack off on watching, I'd be dead with the first tribute strolling past.

Secondly, my sense of temperature has become so warped that no matter how far I go up the mountain or how often I rest, sweat and general misery is plentiful about my person at any given moment.

And finally, my progress is seriously wounded by the throbbing and splitting pain that arises from even the slightest jostle of my joints or neck.

So, I'm unable to see well, thus feeling my way around for the most part; I not only appear miserable from the temperature perception, but hopelessly winded; and I'm constantly wincing in pain at every step. I must look like one pitiful tribute right now.

Oh, but that's what they all want, isn't it? To make all the district children miserable, to watch them from the safety of their brightly-coloured, overly-soft sofas, to cheer for all the losses of lives and hopes and dreams?

But they'll pretend to care. They'll ship off their oodles of goods and money to support us, in some despicable facade of compassion.

And it's just these facades I now rely on. So let them pretend all they want. While it may only extend my life as a pawn... It extends my life. And that's one benefit I'll accept.

Begrudgingly.

I slide my hand across the stone slowly. I've been resting in this open outcropping too long—painful as it may be, I need to find some real shelter.

With a strained grunt, I push myself onto my feet. My temples throb enough to throw me back down, but they don't. Because I can't just stay here. I have to keep moving.

And so I do. I'm heading down the mountainside now—I don't want to accidentally run into the Career camp again—so it's easier to see where I'm going. And it looks like I'm going back to the meadow, where the unbloodied parts of the Cornucopia are still glaring with sunlight.

And, after a way-too-long period of agony, I collapse amidst the meadow's bushes. Even without me moving, the headache doesn't stop. I shouldn't have expected it to. I just... I just want it all to stop. The headache, the Hunger Games...

But I'm powerless to stop either. And while there's a slight chance of a parachute delivering something to help my headache, I'm not going to get freed from the arena by anything falling from the sky.

God, my head hurts...

I try opening my eyes, but I can only open them a sliver—just enough to make sure there aren't any competitors three or four centimetres in front of me.

Yeah... I must not have any more sponsors. While my mentor's generally too drugged up to get out coherent speech, he's not an idiot. He'd know to send me something.

With a resigned sigh, I start to close my eyes—and just catch a flicker of movement before I've shut off my vision completely.

I blink my eyes open again, a little wider than last time, and survey the limited scene in front of me.

...Looks like I must have some sponsors after all.

I start to stretch my hand out toward the parachute, but the pain immediately shoots through my head and freezes me in place.

Come on, Thew. The headache's not going to get any better unless you can grab that donation. So suck it up and do this.

I pick up my arm again—an action severly protested by my skull—and slowly inch it toward the parachute. I'm doing my best to ignore the pain, but my progress is still horribly slow.

Nevertheless, after a minute or two of pure, unadulterated agony, I've grasped the silver cloth. Bringing it closer to me is a little easier, but still far from fun. I have to roll over a bit to free my other hand, and then I get to work pulling the parachute away. It's attached pretty tightly—or maybe I'm just too weak to tug it off very well—but I eventually jerk it off, revealing not a pill, but a syringe.

I take it off the grass with shaking hands. I wonder, is this stuff stronger than the pill I got earlier? Is that why it took so long to get any help?

Fumbling with the grip for a minute, I get the point positioned over my forearm, and, with a deep breath, plunge its contents in.

The effects are odd. It's like a sort of pleasant chill slowly flowing away from where it entered. It spreads to my shoulder, my chest, my neck, and finally, my head.

And the pain is gone. Just like that.

I wrap up the syringe in the parachute and shove it into a pocket—if this stuff doesn't last long, I might as well save my future sponsors the cost of the needle—and sit up straight. I get the slightest bit dizzy, but it doesn't hurt. I stand. Still no headache. Unable to stifle a small laugh of delight, I look around the area without having to squint, stretch some, jump around a little, and still get no throbbing pain.

And then my stomach growls.

Right. I can't celebrate this for too long. I'm still in the Hunger Games. I have a lot of stuff to worry about. Namely, food and water.

I check out the bushes. They're laden with all types and colours of berries, many of which I've never seen before. Of course, working in the factories, one doesn't get much time to roam around nature—but I have to admit I thought the edible plants station in the Training Centre would have had some of these.

But after a minute of searching, I find a few mostly-red strawberries. They're more bitter than sweet, but I can't complain.

As I nibble down on those, I find some other berries I recognize: small, indigo circles that look a little like grapes. But they're not grapes. They're moonseed berries. While I haven't seen any in person, I've seen them in books and on school blackboards. They're apparently found in our district, so we've gotten a few lectures over them in class. So, that's something I know not to eat.

But I'm still hungry. Even after picking all the strawberries I can find—not many, by the way—my stomach's still growling. I don't know what else I could find to eat around here. There're mutts, which would kill me; snakes, which would make too-small meals, or kill me; and berries, which would be about the same as snakes. The best thing to rely on would be donations, but... How am I supposed to get any more donations? That syringe probably sucked the funds dry. If I want anything else, I'm going to have to do something major. Like...

Like finally kill Alf.

But I don't have any weapons. I couldn't make much out of a couple of rocks or branches, and I'm not going to get any donated.

I slowly look back toward the moonseed berries.

Those could be weapons enough, couldn't they? I'd just have to climb up the mountain—which I should be able to do, without that headache to screw me up—and slip the berries into some of his food, or get a bit of their juice into some of his water... And he's dead.

All right... Let's do this. Let's finish what I started.

I pluck some of the berries and start for the summit.


	32. Chosen Path

Author's Note: All right, everyone, I put an updated version of the "who wins" poll up on my profile. It kicked out who dies this chappy as well as Ciano (*sniff*), and you can go vote again. So vote. I command you with my authority as... me. Yeah, let's go with that.

80 reviews! *whistle* Man, I love you guys.

Uh, apologies for the short chapter. I wanted to get this out before I go back for the week because the blocks are up and might be gone and blah blah blah. Hope you still enjoy.

Recommended Listening: Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne

* * *

**Gil Prus, District 10**

I'm getting out of this stupid crater. It's beyond freezing—I'm shaking like a coward, I can see my breath billowing away in the arctic wind, and I think I might be starting to turn blue—so no matter how much my shoulder is bleeding, I have to hightail it out of here.

Standing up's a feat in itself in this weather, but, awesome as I am, I'm of course able to.

Now comes the walking part. It's not easy, but since I'm close to the crater edge, I don't have to do much of it. Bringing my half-frozen limbs up on the ridge and hauling myself over isn't a walk on the beach either, but, you know. I'm awesome enough to do it.

Once I'm back on the rocks, the temperature rockets up a good twenty degrees. I still can't stop my teeth from chattering at first, but it goes away after I climb around a little bit.

And then I'm suddenly aware of just how much my shoulder hurts. It's like that unawesome bird is digging its talons back in every time I budge my arm. And that really, _really_ freaking hurts.

But, fine. Let it hurt. I could climb this whole mountain with one arm, easy.

"Hello!"

I jump, almost tripping over the rocks before I quickly compose myself and turn toward the voice. A few metres above me and to the left is one of the other tributes—Russia, from 9.

He always kinda ticked me off for some reason. Maybe because he was acting really weak and helpless in the Training Centre. He'd better not be that pathetic, or this fight's going to be way too easy.

"Yo." I grip my knife tightly as Russia climbs downward energetically. "You ready to die?"

"Hmm, no," he replies happily, somehow not sounding sarcastic. "How about you?"

I scoff. "Yeah, no." I slip my knife behind my back. "But that doesn't matter, because I'm not the one who's going to die here."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that," Russia hums. He whips out a knife of his own—practically a machete compared to my kitchen knife—and with a sudden rain of sparks, his blade against mine, the battle's begun.

**Japan Hond, District 4**

Things aren't quite going smoothly in the Career camp. Vivi's incredibly fidgety about not killing anyone _right now_, despite her shoulder injury we don't seem to have quite enough bandages for. Alf is still sitting in the corner, trembling and searching avidly for his supposed ghost. Lude and I, meanwhile... We're just trying to ignore the both of them. Not easy, but with the distractions of watching for tributes and polishing our prized weapons, we manage.

That is, until lunchtime.

I divide up our remaining supplies—not much, considering Alf's already-impossible appetite has skyrocketed since the "ghost" incident—and we each end up with an apple and a few pieces of salmon jerky.

"Is this really all we have?" Lude comments, fingering his apple.

"Yes," I sigh, going back to our supply pile for canteens of water.

"I'll go find some food after this," he decides. "If we don't get any donations."

I subconsciously look up at the grey sky, but nothing comes down. There's been a scarcity of donations for some reason. I know the prices of food and such go up the longer the Games continue, but... Isn't this just the third day? I know Alf isn't that useful anymore, and Vivi's too injured to do much at the moment, but... How are we to resolve her condition without more bandages, and some anti-infection medication? How can either Lude or I, the stronger Careers, win without a source of food and water?

This is certainly a problem. But I can't say I know what to do about it. We'll just continue eliminating tributes and see if we can win back our approval from whoever it was that took it away.

I gather four full canteens from their place at the edge of the pile—which is really more of a disorganised stack at this point—and distribute them among the four of us.

While the rest of us begin to open ours, Alf, who has already finished his food ration, stares at his canteen for a second before drawing back in alarm, frantically spluttering off something high-pitched that none of us can seem to comprehend.

"All right, what's wrong _now_?" Vivi growls, screwing the cap back onto her canteen.

"It-it-he-the-this one-it-it-h-he poisoned it!" Alf wails. "He-the ghost-he-I saw him, and-and—"

"Will you _shut up _about your _freaking ghost_?" Vivi shouts, standing up and clenching her fists in frustration. She glares down at Alf. "I'm sick and tired of your idiotic ranting about something that obviously has not, does not, and never will exist!" She stomps toward Alf and snatches his canteen up. "This," she iterates, shaking the object, "is not poisoned! Just because your all-but-nonexistent brain says you saw that stupid 3 in bedsheets and angel wings sneak over and dump poison into this does not mean it happened!"

"No, I-I saw him! I—" Alf trails off, staring with disbelief as Vivi unscrews the cap of the supposedly-poisoned canteen. She leans back, takes a huge swig of it, and slaps the lid back on.

"See?" she growls, throwing the canteen back toward Alf. "Not poisoned!"

Alf scrambles back as the not-fully-closed bottle splashes some of its water onto the yellow grass before him.

"You-you just—!" Alf splutters, unable to complete his sentence.

"Yes," Vivi replies in a low-pitched tone, narrowing her eyes. "I just drank some unpoisoned... wa... water..." She suddenly collapses into a sitting position, looking bewildered.

Setting down my jerky, I hurry over, checking her shoulder wound. If she's lost too much blood, it would explain her disorientation.

But... It doesn't seem to be bleeding...

"Wh... what?" she mutters, planting her hands on the ground to keep her from swaying. "I... but... There's... There's no such thing as ghosts..."

"I-I warned you!" Alf declares. "I told you he poisoned it, but you—you wouldn't listen!"

"But..." Vivi wobbles, eyes sleepy. "I... N... No! I-I can't... I can't die like this!" she pants, sounding less worried than crazed. "There's... not enough... _blood_!" She just manages to push herself up, and then staggers a few steps to where her blade lies. Collapsing again, she holds the sickle high above her, hands shaking from the effort.

And with a guttural, insane laugh, she runs it deep through her throat.


	33. Move Along

Author's Note: Here are the current rankings (current=before I posted this chapter *duh*) for the top reviewers! (*drumroll*)

In first place, with a whopping 30 reviews, is WindBlown101!

In second place, with an also whopping 26 reviews, is Adrenaline Write!

In third place, with a mildly whopping 12 reviews, is Axxi!

And tied for fourth place, with a kind of whopping 4 reviews, are LittleSchemer and Spockie!

How are you faring? ;)

Recommended Listening: Shoot to Thrill by AC/DC

* * *

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

I have to admit, as disadvantaged as he is, Gil is fighting really well. Even though his knife is only half the size of mine, it can absorb my strikes decently. And, his injured shoulder doesn't seem to be holding him back much—but that's probably because he hasn't had to use his left arm yet. He's perfectly capable of parrying my blows with only his right.

I guess I'll just have to change that!

With one last grind of our blades, I pull back, hopping over to a flatter section of the rock behind Gil. But I don't gain a second from this—he's already swinging around for another strike. I bring my knife up to block, and our weapons meet each other with a clang. He recovers quickly—his knife is lighter, after all—and goes for a stab at my chest, which I narrowly dodge. Fighting my momentum, I bring my blade in an arc toward his right arm, but he pulls it back enough for me to miss. He slices his knife up suddenly, scoring a sizable line across my right arm before I can dodge.

I pull back a little, glancing at my wound—it's not too deep, but more than enough so to sting—before having to bring my weapon up to block another swipe. Gil's knife rebounds off, and I take the opportunity to slash at his neck. He dodges enough so I miss my target, but he still ends up with a pretty nice cut into the front of his right shoulder.

"Is that the best you can do?" he laughs, bringing his blade in another arc to score through my stomach. I flinch from the contact, but I'm just able to slash a narrow cut across his torso. He doesn't seem to react at all; instead he continues his onslaught with a quick stab to a place dangerously close to my heart. I'm unable to block in time, but I get the tip of my knife through his left arm, adding more blood to what's already caked there from his shoulder injury.

He finally flinches, and, doing my best to ignore the growing pain from my chest wound, I bring my weapon around and just start to embed it in his right arm before he pulls back. He swings his knife back around, but I block. He pulls back a bit, and we both stand there panting for a moment before jumping back in.

**Gil Prus, District 10**

If I weren't so injured, this guy would _so _be dead right now. I mean, I took out a Career. And this guy barely even knows how to fight.

That stupid, unawesome bird! It's all his fault!

But, fine. Injuries and all, I'll still win this.

Because I'm _awesome_.

I'm the first to attack after our synchronised break, only sending my knife across his collarbone before he steps out of range. He doesn't miss a beat, swiping his blade around, which I just manage to deflect with my own. Taking a step forward, I thrust my weapon out toward his neck, barely nicking it before he pivots away and swings his knife at my own neck. I dodge, of course, and with a slash of my own, land another nice, deep cut across his stomach. He draws back with a cry of pain, and I raise my knife to deal the final blow.

But then I hear it. Rocks clattering toward us.

I glance up, since I have more than enough time, and see two other tributes hurrying across the mountainside. I look back down at Russia, who looks like he's realised the same thing.

Well, two kills is better than one.

"You're dead the second I get back!" I announce, throwing my right arm over a jutting stone and hauling myself up a level or two. Feet scrabbling on the rock, I reach the same latitude as the other two tributes and start running.

"We'll see about that." I can tell from the volume he's right behind me. I guess it only makes sense he'd want to triple his kills, too.

But he's in this competition against me.

And he's not going to win.

**Switz Wingly, District 7**

We had gotten a good ten metres from that animal when the parachute came down. Luckily, it was a little bit in front of me, so I didn't have to slow down to snatch it from the air.

It was a wooden bow. Cheap, but pretty reliable-looking.

And a second later, another donation fell. A few dingy arrows, naturally.

But why would my mentor send weapons right now? I figured he either wanted us to take down that pony—which didn't seem that sensible a choice—or we were about to run into trouble.

By now, I've pretty much figured out it's the latter.

Not only the boy from 10, but also the 9, is pelting after us, and, at this rate, they're going to catch up. The mountainside's not giving us any chances to evade any time soon, so I don't have any choice but to use the bow.

I tell my sister to hang on tight, and I let go of her hands to nock one of the arrows on the bowstring. Honestly, Liet is a lot better at this part, but she's not strong enough to pull back—and there's no way I'd endanger her hold on me just to get this ready quicker.

It takes about three metres' worth of running before I have the arrow positioned correctly. Then, taking a deep breath and praying for the best, I screech to a halt, whip around, and fire.

The 10 dodges to the left, but the 9, vision blocked until now by the 10, is struck at the bottom of his ribs and stumbles over, tumbling onto the ground.

I bolt off again—the 10's drawn a lot closer since I stopped—and fumble with the remaining two arrows, trying to get their feather-ends separated. Hearing the 10's footsteps come even closer, I scrabble my fingers more frantically, finally getting the two arrows divided. Stuffing the extra back into my waistband, I nock one onto the string.

The 10 is still gaining on us. If I don't hit him now, I'm as good as dead.

I spin around and fire.

**Veta Edel, District 8**

While we're not getting much for lunch—just two apples—my appetite's been mostly resolved by the slice of wedding cake our mentors had sent us a few minutes ago. The sponsors must have been going crazy for our wedding, considering the fancy, spiraling details in white icing on the side of that slice.

But I guess their support and funds can't last long. That's okay—we already got a pretty good "banquet" and two decently-sized canteens—but… You know. It's just something you'd like to last even though you know it won't.

Just like this whole marriage. I know it won't last, but… But…

…You know.

My thoughts are interrupted—thankfully—by the sound of steady footsteps nearby.

I glance over at my fiancé—I mean husband—next to me, and he seems to have noticed the same.

I check our surroundings. We're still in the same little outcropping, where we've yet to be found—but it's feeling a little too open all of a sudden.

"Would you like to find some different shelter?" Austria suggests in a low tone of voice. I nod.

The first of us to stand, I peek over the top of our shallow grotto. The nearby tribute still isn't in my range of sight.

"Which way should we go?" I whisper, ducking back down a little.

"Well, near the right of us is a swamp, but I've already encountered a muttated alligator there. I'm not sure how far away the next crater is."

The solid, slow footsteps sound again.

"Let's take our chances going left, then."


	34. Purpose

Recommended Listening: Mr. Roboto by Styx

* * *

**Thew Canda, District 3**

Well, I did it. I poisoned the water and hid nearby until I heard them divvying up their lunch. Then I kept watch on the scene, peeking in such rushed snatches I didn't know what I had seen until I was already back hiding again.

I guess Alf must have seen me before, the way he reacted. But I never would have suspected that Vivi would be the one taken down by this. It's kind of ironic—Vivi ranting about how much smarter she is than Alf, only for _her_ to be the one to make a stupid mistake. And now she's dead.

And it's… my fault. My kill, I guess the Gamemakers would say. It's… odd. I was perfectly prepared to take down Alf, without remorse, and I obviously wasn't expecting this.

But… It's not much worse. I just killed someone who hadn't wronged me. But I'm sure she'd wronged others. While I haven't been keeping a closer eye on the Careers than necessary, there's a good chance Vivi has killed or horribly injured someone. And even if she hasn't, she was still a Career. She was perfectly ready to kill and maybe torture whomever she came across for the shallow entertainment of the Capitol.

And anyone willing to dedicate herself to that deserves death. I just happened to be the one to bring it to her, is all.

Oh, but I bet I'm the sponsors' hero now. Taking down a Career is sure to get me some donations. I wonder how Ciano's doing—if I run into him and we reforge our alliance, I'd probably have enough donators to pay for his food!

But I probably won't see him again. After all, the Hunger Games are about tearing apart relationships, not letting them survive as long as possible.

But, you know what, Capitol? That's just fine. Look at me—I've killed one of your precious Careers, and there's nothing to stop me from getting rid of the rest.

Me. It's kind of hard to believe something this big is my own achievement. But it is. For once in my life, I've actually _done_ something.

And I kind of like it.

**Liet Wingly, District 7**

The backpack straps chafe against my shoulders as I'm swung around again. Switz fires his second arrow at Gil, finally hitting him just below the left shoulder—and I can just see Gil's arm start to fall away from him before my brother turns back around and takes off again.

But my stomach's already squirming. Gil's not in front of me anymore, but that half-second of the arrow ripping through the last sinews holding his mutilated shoulder to the rest of him has already branded itself into my vision.

That, the cadavers at the bloodbath… Why do they want all these horrible things to happen to us? We-we haven't done anything, have we? We haven't done anything to deserve this. Not to the Capitol, at least…

My vision refocuses on the back of my brother's head. Switz… He's done everything for me, even here, and what have I done to repay him? Maybe making a little trinket, or some PJ's for him, but… Well, none of that matters now. But what he's done, giving up his time, his money, his parents' approval, to keep me alive…

That still matters.

And I want to repay him. I always have. But here, now, the only way to repay him is to not win.

And I'm determined to do just that.

My train of thought screeches away as I'm suddenly jerked to the side. Alarmed, I tighten my grip a bit as I try to figure out what happened.

Switz has his hand against the mountain in such an uncomfortable position I'm sure it must have been a reflex to catch himself. So, he stumbled, that's all.

But as I wait, I notice how much he's started to lean on that hand, and how heavy his breathing has become.

Without another thought, I let go, dropping a few inches to the rock. I flinch when I hit, just managing to recompose myself before my brother turns around.

"What… are you doing?" he pants, leaning his back against the wall. "You shouldn't… put weight on that leg." He motions weakly toward my injured calf.

"All right, then." I promptly sit down.

"Liet," he sighs, "we can't just stay here. It's not… It's not shelter enough. We need to… to find something more… more suitable to hide in."

"Well, not right now," I reply, crossing my legs. "We're taking a break first."

Switz, resolve breaking ever so slightly, shifts his hand and leans his back against the rock instead. "We shouldn't… take a break out here in the… the open like this. It's not safe."

"Come _on_, Switz," I plead, "I can tell you're too exhausted to go far." He responds with a breathless "I'm fine" that seems to be meant more to convince himself than me. So I add, "And, if something happens to you, who'll protect me?"

I've finally struck a chord. My brother slides down resignedly, seating himself next to me.

"…All right. Just for… Just for a little bit."

**Lude Ermany, District 2**

The thin rocks crunch under my feet as I progress down the mountainside.

I'm headed to the swamp crater—the others didn't seem to be occupied—to find us some food. While we're not going to be supporting Alf much longer—if all goes well once I get back, at least—there's still me and Japan to worry about for who knows how much longer.

I wonder how easy it'll be to take down Alf. I'm suspecting all I'll have to do is point a finger, say there's a ghost, and swing. But there is a small chance that won't work. I doubt Alf will suddenly pull himself together, but...

I've been starting to suspect this may be an act. After all, even if he were scared of ghosts, this whole ordeal is a stretch. And if it were all an act, maybe it was he who poisoned Vivi. Manipulated her so she would be so outraged at this latest "outburst" of his that she'd drink the water herself.

But I can't say that for sure. Maybe he really is just a paranoid idiot.

In either case, I've got to find some food.

I've reached the swamp crater's edge, and, with a little effort, I throw myself over. My boots immediately squelch into watery mud with such a foul stench I'm tempted to clamp a hand over my nose. I don't, though—how pathetic a soldier would I be if I couldn't even withstand a bad smell—and my shoes sink further into the mud as I swing my morningstar over the ledge next to me.

All right. I'm here.

Who else is?

I stay as still as possible during my first surveyance of the area. There's not much to survey, though—just a few mouldy clusters of trees and vines surrounded by a flat sheet of filthily-brown water broken only by the occasional reed.

With an inhale of air vile enough to choke me a little, I start to trudge into the deeper parts of the mud and water. The level's barely gotten above my ankles before soft sticks and rotting leaves and squelching clumps of mud start to pour into my boots. It's far from pleasant, but it won't dissuade me. I'm not going back empty-handed—

Suddenly, I stop my movement.

Was that...?

Sure enough, another splash sounds a few metres to my right.

I turn in that direction, gripping my weapon tightly as a thin ripple of a wave streaks toward me. I barely make out a set of small eyes before the attacker suddenly throws itself upward and lunges at me.

I whip my morningstar around before even thinking about it, and a large sploosh tells me I've sent my target back into the water. Pulling my arm away from me—it's pretty easy for my weapon to swing around and hit me if I'm not careful—I schlep over to where a bumpy something is just poking out of the water's surface. It's not moving in the least, so I'm very sure it's dead.

Reaching down, my hand brushes against more of the creature's bumpy skin until I find some sort of appendage. I grip it and heave the thing—which I now recognise as some sort of alligator—out of the swamp. The gator's a good half-metre taller than me and about twice as wide as my shoulders. He's a heavy brute, but he's dead, and he's supper.

I start back for the savannah.


	35. Kamikaze

Author's Note: Someone is going to be very pleased before this chapter starts. And only the pleased person will have any clue as to what I'm saying. I just like confusing you all like that.

Recommended Listening: Freewill by Rush

* * *

**Japan Hond, District 4**

My back facing the meager pile of our remaining supplies, I stare down at the mountainside piercingly. A few groups of people are hurrying across, and while they don't seem to be planning on coming up here, it's no excuse to slack on my watch. Should anyone run away with even one meal's worth of rations, this alliance will be in trouble.

I cast a wary glance back at Alf, who's still throwing a panicky stare out toward nothing in particular. With the utterly insane amount of food he's been demanding in recent times—well, not to say he hasn't _always _demanded an insane amount of food, but still, it's been more so lately—he may be the most likely of all the tributes to steal some food for himself.

Or, should I say, _attempt_ to steal. For if he even tries to make a swipe at these supplies, he won't be alive long enough to regret it.

"Hey... Japan?"

I turn toward Alf slowly, resting my hand on the hilt of my sword threateningly.

"Yes?"

Alf has stood up since I glanced at him last, and he's now stepping toward me, hands in pockets. The panicked look still hasn't quite left his eyes, though he's now grinning charismatically.

"You know, I really wouldn't mind another bite to ea—" He halts suddenly when I slash my sword towards him, stopping it centimetres away from his chest. I narrow my eyes pointedly, but no words are needed.

Alf frowns, not seeming to take my open threat as seriously as I'd expected. "Come on... A guy's gotta eat, you know..."

"Yes, and that's exactly why I won't have you scarfing down the rest of our rations."

"But," Alf objects, moving slowly to the side—I keep my katana pointed at him—"Lude's out getting us some food now. Or don't you trust him?"

"It's not about trust. We have no idea if the arena even has any more food to offer—and even if Lude does find us something, it's not likely to hold all three of us for the rest of the Games."

"Is that so?" Alf responds in a thoughtful-sounding tone, looking down at his feet. He scuffs his boot against the ground, making the tall, yellow grass quiver. "Then..." He looks back up.

"—There'll just have to be less of us!"

I hurriedly continue my sword's paused trajectory, but Alf's already pivoting enough to only sustain a shallow wound to his arm. I can only draw my arm back, planning another strike, before he's completely behind me—and before I can turn around, he throws an arm across my shoulders and slams me backward into his chest. I struggle to pull myself out of his grasp, but my effort proves useless.

Alf tosses his other arm across me, only starting to constrict my windpipe—nothing enough to kill me just yet.

I swing my sword up uselessly—I can still move it, but, being unable to lift my shoulder, I won't be able to slash at anything but myself.

The dizziness starts to set in, and my ears fail to interpret Alf's current speech.

What... How did this happen? I...

I underestimated him. Assuming he'd back away if I held my sword up to him long enough... I didn't allow myself enough time to strike should he not.

Alf's meaningless chatter continues barraging my ears, and his arm starts to push harder against my neck. Black spots start to dance around the bleak view of the savannah in front of me.

Is this... it? Am I really going to... die here?

I... didn't expect this. I thought for sure I was going to win... Win, and bring back honour to my home...

But what honour is in this? A pathetic, helpless death, with only one kill of mine credited to my district?

I-I can't die like this. But I don't see a way out—unless Lude comes back and saves me...

But... There's no honour in that, either. To have him rescue me, only to turn on him later in order to win...

No. I will not live in that shame. I am going to... I am going to die here.

Alf clamps down a little harder, and I let out an involuntary choking sound.

This is becoming... more and more uncomfortable. My throat closing in on itself; my shoulders being pushed in enough to cut off circulation; Alf's ribs behind me digging into mine, almost perfectly lined up...

And in a sudden burst of mental clarity, I know exactly what I am going to do.

My vision starts to blur out as I shift my halfway-numb fingers around the hilt of my katana. I bring it up parallel to my chest, then tilt the sword inward. And with the largest painful heave of my shoulder I can manage, I plunge the blade straight through my heart—

—And the heart behind it.

Alf lets go and sounds a strangled cry of pain as I wrench the blood-covered sword back out of us. The pain is enough to stop my breathing altogether—but I'm not done yet. Whipping around, I launch my blade into Alf's throat. The cannon booms, but I continue hacking the katana across his neck until the increasingly ragged cut goes all the way through.

Unable to stay standing, dropping my sword, I tumble over and crash into the grass shoulder-first. I've started breathing again, but only in laboured, bloody rasps, and my vision's not getting any clearer, nor the pain any lighter. If anything, the affliction is growing worse as my heart convulses, ripping itself apart with every beat.

And, as I lie here in the expanding pool of my blood, I think I hear footsteps. Straining my almost-ruined sight to the source of the noise, I just pick out a blur of grey topped with yellow hurrying toward me—then my vision goes blank.

"Japan!" My mind manages to piece together the voice and recognise it as Lude's. The voice goes away, and I'm sure my hearing's faded as much as my sight. But after a moment, Lude goes on.

"So... That's what happened," he mutters to himself. There's a noise, as if he's either rising to his feet or kneeling down, before he continues. "You... were an excellent soldier."

I just perceive his warm hand resting on my wrist.

"It was an honour to fight with you."

I think I smile. Of all things to say...

With an effort, I direct my useless eyes toward where he must be.

"Thank you..."

And with that last rasp, my senses go blank.

**Austria Edel, District 8**

I squeeze Veta's hand tightly as we inch our way around the mountain. We can't hear whomever we were fleeing from anymore—but by now, we've gotten ourselves into anything but shelter. So we must keep moving.

The sun's starting to get less harsh now—though that's not entirely a good thing, considering the rocks don't seem to keep heat very well—so I'm assuming the afternoon is drawing to a close.

I draw my hand across another rock blocking our way, and, pushing myself around its side, lead my fian—I mean wife—further forward. And, being in the lead, I'm the one who sees the tributes in our path first.

"Ah! Swi—" I cut off to a stammer as my former ally suddenly nocks an arrow and points it straight at me.

"You're—not—welcome here," he growls, keeping his arm pulling back on the string—although, judging by the way his arm is shaking, he won't be able to pull much longer.

"But-I... S-Switz, we..."

"...were allies until _you _abandoned us," Switz finishes, glaring.

Veta steps out from behind me, and Switz instantly adjusts to aim at her.

"Hey!" I object, stepping back in front. "Whatever vendetta you have against me, she's not part of—!"

"I don't care!" he snaps. "Get away from my alliance right now, the both of you, or I _will _shoot!"

"But..." I trail off. It seems whatever reunion with them I had been expecting is not going to happen. While Switz doesn't seem to be in top condition, I don't doubt for a second that he'll keep his word on shooting me.

"A-All right. I'm leaving." I walk around slowly, arms up, and the tip of his arrow turns to follow me until my alliance has rounded a corner.

"I'm guessing you made some friends while I was away," Veta whispers sarcastically.

"Heh. Yeah."


	36. One in a Million Chance

Author's Note: For anyone who'd like to read my nonsensical babbling, I've created a FictionPress account. Same username. Just one story so far.

We're dangerously close to 100 reviews, everyone~ The second we get there, reviewer rankings will be final.

Aaaaand it's chapter time. This one's a vague bit dirty, I'll warn you.

Recommended Listening: Lonely is the Night by Billy Squier

* * *

**Thew Canda, District 3**

Night falls quickly here. I've only just finished my donated supper of an orange and some bread before the sunset comes. It's a bleary sunset, with the sky's colour closer to that of ashes than the orange peel in my hand. I guess the last thing the Gamemakers would want to do is boost your morale with something beautiful.

But I think I'm doing all right morale-wise. While I didn't get to the person I was aiming for, I still eliminated a Career. The sponsors like that. And if the sponsors are happy, I'm happy.

Well, relatively speaking. They're all still horrendous murderers for no reason but entertainment, and I will never be fond of them.

But, if they want to send me food and painkiller, who am I to turn them down?

I actually haven't had any painkiller since the syringe in the meadow, so my head's throbbing again. It's still not bad, though, so… I'm all right for now. I should have enough sponsors to get more in the morning, I'm sure.

My pointless shredding of the orange peel is suddenly interrupted by a burst of music. It takes me a second to register it as the national anthem, and once I do, I look up to the sky. Being on the mountainside for the time being, my view is unobstructed.

The first face is Vivi. Even in a placid photograph, her eyes and smile are just twisted enough to make me shudder.

But she's gone now. Nothing to fear.

She flickers out of the sky, and, in a heartbeat, her image is replaced.

By that of Alf.

I stare blankly at the face so similar to my own, unable to register this for the whole time it appears. Yet another Career, Japan, is shown across the sky before I start to realise what's happened.

Alf is dead.

And I didn't kill him.

I can't quite explain why I'm so angered at this. I always thought I just wanted him to die, no matter how, but… I guess I wanted to take him down myself. After all, he did try to kill me—not to mention, he left me with this continuously relapsing headache—and I'm sure he's gone after others, too.

It disgusts me so much how Careers would go out of their way to destroy lives like that. Really, I—I would have liked to take them all down myself. But seeing as only one is left, I guess that's not going to happen.

—And Japan's picture is suddenly replaced with Ciano's.

Ciano… is dead, too? I mean… I knew he wouldn't last—I guess—and he was really a nuisance to the alliance… But… He was… He was a good guy.

I watch his perpetually cheery face before it flickers away, overshadowed by the Capitol seal.

Ha. Of course that's how they wrap up the death toll. Reminding us why these faces are gone forever, why the Careers have reason to kill, why all but one of us are condemned to death.

Because of the Capitol. Because of their ignorance of the people, of humanity, of the complete waste of lives year after year after year…

I can't stop it.

But I _can_ stop my face from lighting the sky.

And that's what I plan to do.

**Veta Edel, District 8**

The flint clacks pitifully against itself as I try to get a spark of some kind. I'm not going to start a big fire—that'd be suicide enough in the Hunger Games _without _being surrounded by trees and moss—but the night brings a certain chill to the mountainside. My husband and I would rather stay a little warm.

I finally get a spark, but it flies too far away from the meager pile of tinder to start anything. With a sigh, I get back to hitting the flint.

"I could try for a while, if you like," Austria offers.

"Nah. I think I've almost got it." I grate the rocks together again, still producing nothing noticeable. "Maybe."

He can't quite stifle his laugh. "If you say so."

After a minute or two more of inanely striking the flint, I finally guide a spark to the musty-smelling pile of wood shavings. I start to gather the second level of firewood and arrange it carefully to avoid too much smoke.

"Well, there we are," I sigh finally, leaning back against a tree.

"Good job. It's nice and warm." My husband leans in to hold his hands over the little flame. His ring glints weakly, and suddenly I notice just how beaten up his hands are. They've always been in perfect condition—well, as perfect as they could get, considering how much he had to work in the textile factories—so he could drum them over the piano keys without fault.

But they're far from perfect now. Dried out to the point of cracking, sliced up by the savagely sharp mountainside, covered with a vague film of dirt from climbing around every day.

Just shows how much this arena's taken out of him. He hasn't really been injured, even as much as, say, my ankles, but three days of scaling a mountain and running for his life... It's not going to have a positive impact, that's for sure.

I look back at his face to see him staring blankly into the little fire.

What's made him gloomy all of a sudden, I wonder? Has he been thinking about the same thing as me? Or maybe what I won't let myself think about?

I lean over next to him, resting my head on his shoulder. He doesn't seem to relax.

And then something pops into my head.

"Austria?"

"Hmm?" I think he turns to look at me, but I can't see his face at this angle. I sit up and look him in the eye.

"You know... We're married now. If you'd like to... _have _me."

He looks at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, then suddenly turns overwhemingly red.

"Wha-you-you-wh-b-the-we—" he splutters, unable to put a coherent sentence together. "We-it-we're in the-the Games! You can't-you can't seriously..." He closes his mouth and opens it again, but apparently didn't come up with anything else to say in the time it took him.

"Okay, okay," I reply, unable to stop myself from giggling. "Just offering."

I slouch back over onto his shoulder.

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

I made it back to my crater for the night. It's still really, really cold—but that's good. I ended up getting pretty badly sliced up in my fight with Gil, especially in my stomach. And then there's that arrow wound that sent me tumbling down the side of the mountain for a little while. That wasn't fun.

But it's all right now. Since this mini-environment is so cold, it's a lot harder to feel my wounds. Or much of anything, for that matter. I can't say if it's gotten colder since I was here last, but it's definitely really, really, _really_, cold.

Oh, well. At least it's numbing.

I curl up in the grass and watch the faces flit across the sky. A lot of Careers, and a boy I didn't know. No Gil. No Switz.

Well, good. I'd rather kill them myself. It'll be a lot of fun to kill Gil, if I actually get to.

And then there's Switz. It might not be as fun to eliminate him. Because I _need _to kill him. Not just do it for fun.

Because his arrow tore a hole through my scarf.

My sister made me this scarf. And, aside from my life in the Games, it's all I have left of her. And Switz went and ripped a hole in it, a big, gaping hole almost wide enough to slice the cloth all the way through.

And I definitely can't let him live with that.

But! That's a job for another day. Now it's time to go to sleep.


	37. Raining Fire

Author's Note: We're down to the final eight, everyone. Wahaha. I'll be putting up another "Who should win" poll once the next tribute(s) die(s).

Recommended Listening: Chain Reaction by Journey

* * *

**Lude Ermany, District 2**

This gator is really hard to cut up. The skin is so rough I've cut up my fingers and my jacket sleeves—resulting in me taking off my jacket—in just dragging the thing around. The hide's too thick for any of the weapons at my disposal to break through—except my morningstar. Of course, if I keep pummeling the mutt with that, I'm not going to get any edible meat out of it.

This is one heck of a struggle for breakfast.

But, it's not as if the sponsors have suddenly returned. So struggle I will.

I cast another look at the mass of unavailable meat before turning to check my weapon stash again. There's not much; some of the things Corianne and I gathered at the Cornucopia are still here, but most of the blades have been lost. No one knows what happened to Corianne and her halberd. No one cared to wrench Vivi's sickle from her neck after the cannon boomed. Alf never used a weapon. And Japan's blades I chose to leave with him.

But anyway.

The cold handles try to stick to my fingers as I sift through what's left. Some brass knuckles, useless for my situation. Some small daggers, bent out of shape from my previous attempts to use them. A regular mace, which won't do any more good than my morningstar.

I come across a tight coil of metallic wire and pick it up to see if it's sharp enough when I suddenly spot something. A little cricket with an exoskeleton of bright blue and orange splotches is perched by my foot, looking up at me curiously. I look back at it for a second, and then smash it with my boot. Don't want any bugs around to get into the alligator meat before I do.

I withdraw my boot, noting the colourful smudge of bug before I turn back to the wire.

And see another cricket.

I stomp on it, too, with no notable results. A bit perplexed now, I sweep the area in front of me, but don't see any more. I glance back at the wire, but, on a whim, turn to see if there are any crickets behind me.

—There are. Hordes of them. Settled on the ground, on every level on the tall savannah grass, blanketing a good half of the crater in orange and blue.

I set the wire down on top of my crumpled pile of jacket slowly. None of them move. They just keep a steady gaze on me.

These guys are all muttations, I'm sure of it. But what am I going to do about it? I don't have any bombs or anything that could take all of them out. The few weapons I have would barely take down two at a time. So…

I don't take my gaze off the crowd for a second.

But one of them still manages to spring onto my arm.

Even though nothing happens, I still jump back and wave my arm frantically. The cricket doesn't come off. And very suddenly, I'm aware of an increase in heat where the bug keeps latched onto me. It's not much, but it's enough to get me to try and pry the thing away with my fingers. I still can't get it off.

And abruptly, the heat increases. I swear I can see _smoke _rising off my skin as the cricket stands still, emanating more heat than I'd think a nuclear bomb of its size could manage.

With a grunt, I finally manage to rip it away with my half-seared fingertips. I smash it against the ground panting. With a quick check, I determine there to be an at-least-second-degree burn on my arm where it had landed and something more akin to sunburn on my fingers.

There's an odd second of numbness before the pain kicks in.

I grit my teeth, determined not to sound in pain, when I suddenly realise it.

Hundreds of these crickets are staring me down.

I slowly move and get a grip on my jacket—

And the crickets are upon me.

**Switz Wingly, District 7**

Something pokes gently into my side. I roll over in response. Come on, Mom, it's not a school day…

"Switz…?"

I'm poked again before I suddenly realise where I am. Snapping to wakefulness as quickly as possible, I sit up hurriedly enough to make myself a little bit dizzy.

"Ah, you're awake!" I register my sister's voice, but my eyes aren't awake enough to see her. I blink a few times and register nothing but Liet and the mountainside beside me.

"Wait…" I try to remember what exactly happened before I fell asleep, but… "Liet? What happened last night?"

"Um…" My sister wrings her hands. "We took a break here, and you fell asleep."

"Wha... Well, why didn't you wake me? We can't just stay on the side of the mountain! Anyone could…" My voice is getting too loud for something said to my sister, so I quiet down. "…Anyone could find us here, you know."

"I-I know… You just… You looked so tired, and… I-I didn't want to wake you up."

I sigh. "Liet, that's a dangerous thing to do, okay?" I stretch a little. "Did you get enough sleep?"

"Hm? Oh! Yeah. I tried to stay up for watch, but…" She looks at her shoes in a downcast manner.

"No, that's fine," I reassure quickly. "We didn't get attacked, so… No harm, no foul, right?" She nods uncertainly. "Yeah. Just be sure to wake me up next time, okay?" I ruffle her hair.

Well, there shouldn't be a "next time". I shouldn't have fallen asleep. Shouldn't have stopped in the first place.

"Come on. Let's go find some shelter." I shuffle around so Liet can take her usual piggyback position, but she hesitates. "What's wrong?" I turn around quickly. "Is your leg hurting? Because I think we have some more band—"

"No, no, I'm fine." She clambers on, and I stand up, starting across the mountain.

The first crater we run into is the swamp. Not going there again, that's for sure. I keep walking.

A few tiring minutes later, we come across another crater filled with deciduous trees, and I survey the area quickly before deciding to go in. I clamp my hands onto the crater edge and pull. But it takes me a good minute to finally heave the two of us over.

Sheesh, am I really that weak? I know I didn't have any breakfast, but for cripes' sake, I slept through the whole night and then some. I should be plenty refreshed enough.

But I'm not feeling any better. Not only am I still worn, I've also gotten a pretty nasty headache—from sleeping on rocks all night, no doubt.

No time to complain, though. I have to secure us some shelter ASAP.

Finally having gotten into the forest crater, I sweep my hands across each other and start across the compacted dirt. There's not much to go through for the first metre, but then the trees start to spring up. I weave through them, careful not to bump Liet against anything. About three more metres in, the trees become draped with hanging moss, and I have to continuously pull clumps aside just to see what's in front of me. It's gotten hard enough just trying to peer through the mostly-obstructed shafts of sunlight.

"—not that good."

I freeze.

"What's wrong, Switz?"

I shush my sister and listen again. Sure enough, voices are coming from deeper in the crater. Other tributes are here. And if other tributes are here, this isn't safe.

I turn around and march back out of the forest. The sunlight hits me again, making my headache throb, but I don't stop for a second until I've heaved us back out of the crater.

Liet doesn't comment; she must have heard the voices, too.

I look around the mountainside. The only other crater I can see is some sort of desert, but it'll have to do. There seem to be enough cacti to cast a protective shadow.

So, taking a deep breath, I set off for there.


	38. Ripped in Two

Author's Note: 100 reviews! We did it! Thanks a bunch, everyone.

And that means the top five competition is sealed shut! I'll PM WB, Adrenaline, Axxi, LittleSchemer, and Spockie with the small set of rules concerning your free story requests~

Recommended Listening: American Pie by Don McLean

* * *

**Gil Prus, District 10**

My shoulder hurts. Like, seriously, _freaking _hurts.

But it's _not even there_.

That's what pisses me off. Not only have I somehow gotten my arm chopped off, it still hurts. How unawesome is _that_?

Well, at least I haven't bled out. Have enough sponsors still to keep me alive. Not to mention my pure awesomeness. That's definitely keeping me alive, too.

But I've had enough of lounging around on the rocks. It's time to go out and win this thing already.

So, knife in hand, I push myself up, and, a little off-balance, start climbing.

There's no way I'm going to climb straight up the side of this thing with one arm, so I'm more circumnavigating, but still. I make progress.

Soon enough, I've made it to a crater wall. I toss my knife over and pull myself above the ridge—not easy, but anyone less awesome wouldn't be able to do this at all.

Landing and regaining my grip on the blade, I look around. I've landed in some sort of forest or jungle or something, looks like.

Well. Let's go find somebody to kill.

I push my way through the trees silently, only reacting once when the bandaged surface of my former shoulder bumps up against a tree trunk. At first I get the feeling all this hurting and searching is for naught, but then I hear something. Some_one_. I pause, listening carefully, before stalking toward the sound. It gets louder. Some sort of conversation.

"…anything for breakfast?"

"No, nothing."

Excited, I quicken my pace, bumping into a couple more branches, but I don't care about that. I'm this close to other tributes! Finally! A chance to show my sponsors my awesomeness!

…And then maybe _I'll _get some breakfast.

"Well, we're in the middle of a forest," the first voice, one that sounds feminine, continues. "There's probably _something _edible running around here."

I turn a corner and get a glimpse between the trees of two seated figures.

"True. Should I go out and try to find some edible plants?"

I come closer, pushing away moss until only one strand of the stuff separates me and the tributes. Tributes I finally recognise as that stupid couple from 8.

Ha! Of all the people to come across, I find the ones who've pissed me off from the first interview. This is freaking awesome!

"Yeah. I'll come with. If we find some vine or something, I could probably make a snare…"

Fingering my knife excitedly, I watch the two Eights stand.

Which one should I go for?

I think for a second, decide the guy's more annoying than the girl, and charge.

**Veta Edel, District 8**

I take the first step away from the little clearing we found when something suddenly bursts from the brush behind me. Reflexively pulling my frying pan out of my waistband, I whip around.

The boy from 10—Gil, I think—is streaking toward the two of us, and before I register that I need to be ready to attack, I see the flash of steel in his hand. Gil lunges for my defenceless husband, and I finally bring my skillet around. It collides hard with the 10's head. He flies away, crumpling to the ground, and I allow myself a short moment of pause to celebrate my victory.

—And then I see the blood on my husband's neck.

I lurch forward, dropping my frying pan and catching Austria just as he starts to teeter backward.

"H-Hey!" my mouth starts, unsure what to say. "Are you okay? What..."

His only reply is a bloody cough.

"A-Austria!" I tug him sideways enough to position him against a tree trunk.

"H-Hang on, okay?" Unable to release him, I keep his shoulders in my grasp as I wildly try to assess the damage.

The slash through the front of his neck spans a good third of the way across, and it looks deep.

What do I do? I-I've never seen anything like this. I'm not a medic. I can't even guess what I should do. Put a hand over it? I'd probably just force the blood down his throat.

But-but if I don't do anything, he'll bleed out and...

And die.

No. N-No, that can't happen. We've-we've made it too far together, and-and...

I feel him start to slump over.

"H-Hang on! You-you won't die, okay? You-you can't die."

He doesn't respond with anything other than a continuous, bloody hacking and wheezing.

I stare bewildered at the river of crimson staining his shirt.

I can't figure a way out of this.

But he can't die. He can't. I won't-I won't let him!

My hands are shaking, so I tighten my grip to stop them.

And I suddenly notice the silence.

He's stopped coughing.

"Aus—"

I'm cut off by a cannon.

"No! H-he's not dead!" I shout, not sure whether I'm addressing the Gamemakers or the cannon. "He's not—He's not dead!"

I squeeze my husband's shoulders.

"C-Come on. Show them you're... you're..."

Something crunches into the tree branches above me, and I look up instinctively.

It's the hovercraft.

"N-no!" The claw starts to descend, and I pull my husband away. "He's not dead! He's not _dead_!" I scream, jumping back when the hovercraft tries to take him away again.

"He's... not..."

The claw surges down again, finally scooping him up, but I don't let go.

"He... He..."

The hovercraft rises, and I lose my grip. I can only stare upward as my husband and the aircraft disappear into the sky.

He... He... He's...

...Dead?

This can't be right. We were... We were going to get through this together, and...

But he... he's... really...

My thoughts are interrupted by a groan.

I whip around to see Gil trying to push himself to his feet.

Gil. The one who killed him.

"What..." I can't seem to put more than one word together.

The one who murdered my husband.

"What are..."

I walk over tensely and wrap my fingers around my frying pan.

"_What are you doing still alive_?"

Without another thought, I bring my arm around hard, the frying pan plowing into the side of Gil's head. He staggers, but that's not enough. I pivot, striking him again with a clang, and he falls down satisfactorily.

But he's still not dead.

Taking another step forward, I raise my weapon and bring it down on his skull sharply, hearing something crunch. The 10 emits a sharp yelp of pain, but I don't care. He murdered my husband. He deserves every ounce of pain he can get.

The pan crashes down onto him again, finally spraying the grass with blood. Again. The murderer shrieks. Again. I start to see bone jutting from his bloodied scalp. Again. Some of the bone is knocked away. Again.

The cannon fires.

But I keep striking, as if some part of his horrible soul can still feel the torment.

I've accumulated a decent pile of chips of bone and splatters of brain by the time the hovercraft arrives. I look up at the claw for a moment before I can register what it is.

"I'm not done yet!" I shout to it, proving my point with another clang to what remains of the 10's head.

But the claw still descends, plucking him away from me. I give him one last bash to the skull before he ascends out of range.

"Good riddance!" I scream, glaring up at where he disappears. I continue standing tensely, glowering up into the sky.

O-Okay. He's dead, Veta. Dead and gone, as he should be. Calm down.

The rage slowly withers, and all I'm left with is a dull, empty feeling.

My husband is just as dead as Gil.

I shakily set my red-stained pan down, crumple to the ground, and cry.


	39. On The Edge

Recommended Listening: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen

* * *

**Thew Canda, District 3**

Sleep interrupted by a cannon, I woke up.

And I really wish I hadn't.

Because my headache is back. Although it's less than when I first came to consciousness after Alf had incurred it... It's still nothing to laugh at, for sure.

I flop over on my side in an attempt to keep my eyes away from the suddenly-blinding sun. Even in the boughs of the swamp crater trees, there don't seem to be enough leaves to temper it.

But that also means there's plenty of space to get a donation parachute through to me.

So where is it?

I stretch my neck to glance at the sky again, but I don't see any cloth billowing down toward me. I let my gaze drop back down to the rest of the bog.

I guess I'm not really in that convenient a place for donations. One little breeze, and the parachute'd probably just fall into the swamp mud.

So do I need to get out of here? I really don't feel like moving…

With a sigh, I start to shift my position in the hammock of branches. It doesn't help my headache, and I'm pretty sore from crouching over a bunch of wood all night, but I eventually have a foot on the next branch down. From there, I shuffle down carefully, finally putting a shoe on the ground with a muddy splat. I put my other foot down, trying to ignore the discomfort of the mud slinking back into my boots, and start to trudge to the outside of the crater.

The going seems awfully slow for such a short distance, but it's probably so because of my headache.

But, headache or not, I eventually make it to the crater's edge, and, with a grunt, just manage to pull myself over onto the rocks. I flop down immediately, repeatedly cursing Alf for the headache.

All right, sponsors, I'm available. In pain, but available. So, food, pain meds, whatever'll help, I'm ready.

And finally, a parachute comes floating down.

I roll over to pluck the cloth away once it lands, revealing the donation.

A small plate of apple slices topped with a tiny pill. I think it's the same kind of pill they gave me before. But whatever it is, it's definitely not the good stuff.

What happened? Did my sponsors suddenly pull out? I don't see why they would do that.

Well, I know prices go up as the Games go on, but… I don't think it's been going on that long… Of course, I have no idea how long I was knocked out, but…

I look back down at the plate and take an apple slice.

Maybe I've been draining the sponsors dry by having them send me food. I mean, it's the safest thing to do, since you never know what could be poisoned in the arena.

But then again, the Capitol doesn't _want _me to be safe, does it?

I pick up the pill and twirl it in my fingers.

I guess this is sort of a message from my mentor. If we keep sending food, you're not going to get the drugs you want. Well, fine. Don't have much of a choice, do I?

With a sigh, I choke down the pill and start on the apples. Once the drug starts to work, I'll be off to get some food, I guess.

Here's hoping that goes well.

**Lude Ermany, District 2**

I keep running. It hasn't done much to dissuade these fire crickets so far, but it's all I've got. I tried using my jacket as a shield, but the instant one of the bugs landed on it, it ignited.

Needless to say, that attempt didn't work.

So now I'm just sprinting around the mountain, hoping they'll somehow get tripped up by the rocks or something.

This is pathetic. Of all things to flee from—crickets! And I dare to call myself a soldier.

But, as weak as it may be, it's the only idea I've got. There's no way I could use any of those Cornucopia weapons on them. I can't take them on without weapons because I'll get burnt. Even with most of them just on my tail, enough have sprung onto me to do some pretty bad damage; I can't feel the back of my right arm, and I really _wish _I couldn't feel the back of my left shoulder.

But I can. And the crickets are still after me. And that's not going to change anytime soon if I don't do something about it.

I've already figured out direct combat is useless. Running doesn't seem to work, either. Maybe, if I run into another tribute, I could reroute them—but there aren't very good odds of that happening.

So I have to use the environment somehow. The side of the mountain obviously isn't going to stall them, and neither is the savannah crater I had been in.

I try to think of the other craters I've seen from the summit. There's the swamp. Promising, but too likely to have another gator mutt waiting for me. And being without weapons, I do _not _want to put myself in that position.

There's the forest. But that wouldn't trip them up. More likely, they'd bump up against a few trees and light the whole crater up. Not going to get myself into that, either.

So, that leaves... What else was there? I try to focus, but it's hard to when I'm simultaneously sprinting for my life and trying to pry a new cricket off me before it burns through every layer of my skin.

The lake! That's what it was!

And what better way to stop fire than to wet it?

I have to keep running for a while before I've figured out where exactly I am in this mess. Then I take off for the lake crater.

I'm panting ridiculously hard before I reach the crater edge, but I still pull myself over with no problem. My boots slide jerkily over the slick shore pebbles, but I regain my balance enough to catapult myself forward, plunging into the water. The frigid surface slaps me hard, but once I'm under, the chill proves roborant. My burns slowly numb, and I'm distracted by the luxury for a minute—and then I remember the crickets.

I begrudgingly come up for air, and then survey the area.

The crickets coat the shore and the pier completely, but none of them have dared to come into the water.

I wonder...

Drawing toward the dangerous shore slowly, I keep an eye on the crickets. They don't move as I approach, even when I'm barely over a metre away.

Of course, the last time they didn't move for a while, I was attacked.

I go ahead and dip my head back under the water, as a precaution. The lake is miraculously clear, so I can still watch the mutts from here.

I tread water for a moment, and then, without warning, spring up and shove a wall of water toward them. They try to scuttle away, but the wave collides with them, and, after a high-pitched chorus and some sort of sizzling, they're splayed out limply across the pebbles. Some of their companions begin to back away, but I launch another series of splashes. Within a minute, I've showered the entire shore and then some. The colourful exoskeletons litter the area lifelessly.

Panting, I kick my way to the shore and poke at one of the ex-crickets experimentally. No burn. I pull myself out of the water and out of the crater.

Well, there's that. How about I go back to that gator?


	40. Ingrate

Author's Note: Brownie points for whoever can connect the title with Russia's circumstances. Haha.

Recommended Listening: Never Been Any Reason by Head East

* * *

**Liet Wingly, District 7**

I don't think my brother is feeling well. Even though he still won't let me walk on my own, he just seems so worn out. He could barely pull himself over the desert crater's edge a few minutes ago, and he didn't fare much better than me. And now, even though we've only been in the desert for a few minutes, he seems hugely overheated.

He keeps his back pressed against the crater edge—the only thing cool around—and his hand around our bow and the last arrow. Though he's keeping as focused a watch as he can, it's easy to tell how weakened he is. He's panting like a dog and can't seem to keep his eyes from squinting, even though frail little me isn't feeling the heat much at all.

"Hey... Switz?"

My brother clears his throat. "Yeah?"

"You know—" I twiddle my toes, although I can't see them under my boots—"we don't _have _to stay in the desert. It is pretty hot and all."

"Oh, no worries. We still... still have those canteens from the... the sponsors, you know?"

"Well, yeah, but..." I put my hands around his arm, which feels clammy. "It's so uncomfortable here. And there aren't enough tributes for all of the other craters to be taken..."

He sighs. "Do you... really want to move?"

I nod eagerly.

"...All right." He starts to get up, and I let go of his arm. Tucking the arrow back into his waistband and tossing the bow over his shoulder, he grips the ridge and starts to pull himself up. He barely gains five centimetres before sliding back to ground level.

"Oh!" I sling the little red backpack—which at this point only contains a box of matches and our new canteens—over my shoulder and scramble to my feet. "Do you need help?"

"Wha—no, no," my brother responds immediately. "I... I'm fine." He grunts and pulls himself up again, getting a little bit higher, but he still fails to clear the ridge.

"Are you okay?"

He stops and turns to look at me. "Yeah... Yeah. I'm okay." He uses his forearm to wipe some sweat from his brow. "It's just, uh... Just what I get for skipping breakfast."

He turns back around and places his hands on the crater edge.

"You skipped breakfast?"

He freezes.

"Uh, I..."

"But you told me you'd eaten it!" I exclaim. "You-you-!"

It suddenly dawns on me, and I stare at him horrified.

"You _lied _to me!" My words start to quicken. "How many-how many times have you done this? How long have you been _starving _yourself?"

"I... I haven't..."

"You did this back home, too, didn't you?" I cry. "How-how could you? After everything I've already taken from you, you—you—you just—you just keep..." I have to stop because I've started to hyperventilate. I take the pause to rub my eyes free of some tears I hadn't noticed until now. Still gasping, I try to calm down when my brother wraps his arms around me.

"...I'm sorry."

My breathing finally starts to slow down a bit.

"I know you don't like it," Switz continues quietly, "but... I'm doing it, anyway." He starts to pull away.

"I've worked too hard for you to lose you now."

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

I can't believe I still haven't found anyone! I've been exploring all morning, but I haven't seen a single tribute. I mean, I know the arena's really big, but... The Gamemakers would want us to find each other, right? So why can't we?

I don't know. But things aren't that bad. I'm still kinda beat up from my fight with Gil, so I don't mind not running into anyone. It's no fun by myself, but I should be grateful that I get a little time to heal up.

I haven't gotten anything from my sponsors since... Well, since the knife, I think. Maybe things have just gotten too expensive. That's all right, though. I've figured out ways to get food and water the last couple of days.

Speaking of which, I'm starting to get a little hungry.

Leaning forward, away from the mountainside, I shift my weight back to my feet and look around. I'm a few metres away from the crater with the Cornucopia and all of the hedges. I've already checked them for food, but I didn't recognise any of the berries, so I didn't take any chances with them. I haven't seen any animals running around there, either.

So... What else is around? There's my crater, but that place definitely has no food. I remember seeing another crater with a bunch of grass, but I don't see how anything edible could be hiding there.

I guess I'll climb up, then. I think there was a forest somewhere around here, too...

Putting my hands over the stones and trying not to flinch when they scrape, I start to clamber upward.

In a few minutes, I've managed to find the forest—not hard, since it's the only crater really full of trees—and I get a grip on the ridge when I hear something. Letting go, I turn and look about curiously. I can't see anything despite the bright noontime sun, but... Ah! There!

I trot over the stones toward the animal, which continues to stare at me lazily.

"Hello!"

It blinks its dark eyes at me, but doesn't move its brown head at all. I take another step closer, but it still doesn't seem to mind.

"Would you make a good lunch?"

No flash of alarm comes from its face, though it leans in a little bit.

I wonder if it _would _make a good lunch. I've never had pony before, but I am pretty hungry...

Oh, well! First time for everything, right?

I slash out with my knife and take it down easily.

Well, there's that! Let's go find something to cook it with!

Nudging the carcass a little bit so it won't fall off the mountainside, I run back over to the forest crater, pick up an assortment of fallen branches, and scurry back out toward my lunch.

Now I have to carve it up. I look over the mound of hair curiously, poking it with the handle of my knife. I'm not from 10—I don't know where all I'm supposed to get the meat from.

Oh, well. I'll figure it out after a while.

I sit down and start to dig my knife under its skin.

**Switz Wingly, District 7**

We're stopping here. I don't know what the problem is with this crater, but whatever it is, I can deal with it later. Right now, I really just want to lie down.

I manage to help Liet over, and she lands in the bright, green grass with an "oomph". Getting myself in there takes an uncomfortably larger amount of time, but I eventually follow her in.

I immediately slump down against the stone and into the grass. It starts to prick at my hands, but I'm too exhausted to worry about shifting my weight elsewhere.

What are we going to do now? I mean, besides pray that no one's going to find us—because that won't work for long.

Well, let's see. I'm starving and running some sort of fever. Liet can't defend herself from anyone with any sort of weapon or muscle. We have one arrow left that only I can use. There's no food anywhere around, unless the sponsors can send us some, and there's no water except for our canteens.

Just kind of crappy all around.

With a huge sigh, I flop over onto the grass, supporting my head with the hollow of my right elbow. I contemplate using the jacket tied around my waist as a pillow, but decide that's too likely to let me fall asleep.

This grass _is _kind of uncomfortable, though...

Oh, well. Beggars can't be choosers.


	41. Hot and Cold

Recommended Listening: Don't Fear the Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult

* * *

**Thew Canda, District 3**

Pills never last as long as you want them to. It's just past lunchtime—if you could still call it that since I've yet to eat—and my headache's already trying to make a full return.

I'm guessing my sponsors have finally decided to abandon me. They know they're the only ones keeping me alive, and it's obvious I'm not going to do well without more medicine. But they're not sending me more medicine, so they obviously don't care anymore.

Not that they actually cared in the first place. They don't care whether I live or die. All they want is their amusement. I suppose I've just started to bore them. Not much I can do about it, though, when my head feels like it's caving in on itself.

I guess I'll just keep moving on. Hope I find some food.

So, even though I _really _don't feel like moving at all, I find myself feeling my way along the side of the mountain. I think I'm progressing steadily downward, but, being unable to keep my eyes more open than slits for any amount of time, I can't really tell.

But I keep moving. Haven't found anything edible yet. Can't quite feel what's under my gloves. Still can't look around to find anything.

But I can still hear fine.

—And I think I hear wings flapping.

Trying to keep my breathing quiet, I risk opening my eyes a little wider. I'm slammed with the blunt daylight, but I do catch a glimpse of something moving before the pain forces me to squeeze my eyes shut.

…All right. There's a bird. That could be food. I don't have any weapons, but…

The flapping gets louder, so I squint back upward. I can make out a bird-like shape now; it's either really big or a lot closer than it sounds.

A few seconds later, I decide the former is true.

Before I can find any stone small and sharp enough to work as a weapon, the bird dive-bombs me. Something sharp—talons, maybe—digs into my stomach for a few seconds before I'm finally able to draw back. Before the bird can launch itself again, I start running.

—Perfect. I finally find a possible source of food, and _it_ ends up being the predator instead of me. Bet the Capitol's eating _this _up.

Though the bird hasn't managed to strike me again, I can still hear the wings beating behind me, just barely. It's hard to hear over my aggravated heartbeat echoing off the very near mountainside.

The flapping seems to subside, so I dare to cast a glance backward. Craning my neck, I can still make out the bird close behind me, so I turn back around to keep running—

—And ram the injured side of my head straight into a stone I hadn't seen.

I can barely begin to comprehend the pain rocketing through my skull before I black out.

**Lude Ermany, District 2**

Aside from the crickets, today was pretty uneventful. Two cannons went off, but I had nothing to do with either. I haven't run into any tributes at all, but I haven't exactly been searching for them. As much as I hate to admit it, the burns hurt. A lot. It's about all I can do to keep prying the skin off this gator.

But, I finally get to the meat by suppertime—which here is hardly before dusk—and it makes a good meal. Though I can't say my injuries are feeling any better, I'm a lot more comfortable on a full stomach.

I decide I'm going to hunt tonight. There aren't many tributes left—as the toll recounts now, only six remain—so the Gamemakers are apt to push us together. But… I'd rather find my own fights than have them neatly tied up and delivered to my doorstep.

So, morningstar in hand, I step outside the savannah. The wind chills my burns to an uncomfortable extent as I peer over the mountainside. From here I can just see the edge of the lake, and a crater filled with long strands of grass—as well as a tribute striding through its fronds. That crater is the furthest down the mountainside, but an opponent waits.

I set off. Stone by stone, I climb down, coming up close to the lake crater in a matter of minutes. I'm tempted for a minute to go jump in, see if it could do the same thing for my burns it did earlier. But even the air is significantly cooler than before, and I'm doubtful that taking a dip in icy water would do me much good. So I keep moving, although having to twist my burnt joints around to climb makes me quickly start to regret my decision.

Nevertheless, I'm soon upon the grassy crater edge. The tribute apparently hadn't noticed me climbing down; I locate him rolled up in the fronds snugly and obliviously.

Oh, well. Honestly, I wouldn't mind an easy kill when I'm in this kind of condition.

Holding my weapon carefully so it doesn't clank, I put my other hand on the ridge, and, with a grunt, throw myself over.

And then the piercing frigidity slams into me like a two-by-four.

Whatever concerned me about the cooler nighttime lake is triply justified here. Of all times to be without a jacket! Just the shock of the sudden glacial temperature against my burns is enough to eke an involuntary yelp of pain out of me.

—The tribute stirs.

Well. So much for that easy kill.

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

I haven't quite fallen asleep when I hear someone yelp. Flopping over curiously, I untangle myself from my makeshift covers and pop my head up over the grass.

Sure enough, right in front of me is another tribute.

Yay! I finally get to have some fun!

I scuttle to my feet, although being surrounded by less grass makes me colder.

"Hello!"

The other tribute—Lude from 2, I think—doesn't respond. He just grimaces, trying to keep his grip on his nefarious-looking weapon while it clatters from his exaggerated shivering. While I'm shuddering from the cold, too, compared to him, I'm standing stiller than still.

I wrap my hand around the knife blade in my pocket.

"S-so, are you going to m-make this fun?"

Lude returns nothing but a scowl, and I frown a little.

Oh, well. I bet I can figure out a way to have fun with this, even if he doesn't want to help.

"You look pretty c-cold," I comment truthfully. Not only is he missing a jacket and shivering violently, most of his skin has started to take on a bluish hue. The patches of skin that haven't shifted colour are odd-shaped, red-and-black blotches that certainly don't look very fun.

But they don't seem to hinder him much when he takes his first swing at me.

All but caught unawares, I only manage to pull out enough so that my arm is merely scored across. The slight impact doesn't seem to affect the spiky ball's momentum—and it looks like Lude's having some trouble taking care of it himself. While he tries to stop the thing from circling, I slash out, getting a cut across his collarbone. He hardly flinches.

It really seems like the cold is hurting him more than anything else...

He finally gets his weapon under control, but his arm is shaking so violently he can't seem to get it back into swinging order. He finally just drops the thing, deciding it's useless, and lunges at me.

I dodge, but I can't get another strike on him until a few swings later. Lude pauses just long enough, in just the right orientation, for me to send my knife ripping straight down his shirt collar to expose his torso. Although I don't put a scratch on his skin, he reacts as if something much worse than my knife has cut him. He stumbles jerkily, bashing his back on the crater edge before involuntarily sliding down.

"It really is too c-cold for you, huh?" I laugh, trotting closer. Lude is making an effort to get up, but doesn't seem to have enough control of his limbs to do so.

"Well, are you going to make this any more fun?" I ask, suspicious he might not be able to fight anymore. "Because if you aren't, I'll just kill you now."

He doesn't react.

So I do.


	42. Bait

Recommended Listening: Lay It Down by Journey

* * *

**Switz Wingly, District 7**

Liet has fallen asleep by the time the faces light up the sky. She's still leaning back against the crater edge, her arms folded loosely and resting on her lap. I'm in a seated position, too, though I suspect I've already gotten all the sleep I'm going to get today.

I watch the Capitol seal when it appears, and the faces that follow. The first is Austria's.

…

So he died after all. Well… fine. We weren't friends. We were barely allies. And _he's_ the one who abandoned _us_. So it's his own fault.

And, for my sister to get out of this alive, well, he would have had to die, anyway. So it all works out in the end.

The next face is Gil's. Hm. I wonder if he just bled out. He was kind of missing an arm the last time I saw him, after all.

But however he died, he's gone now. And in a matter of seconds, his face is gone from the sky as well, replaced by the Capitol seal.

So… Two more gone. That leaves… Well, me and Liet. And then Russia, who might have a vendetta against me for shooting an arrow at him. One of the Careers is still alive. And I don't think I've seen Austria's fiancée in the death toll, either. And then… I think someone else is left, but I can't put a finger on exactly who it is.

So, that means six of us. Only four opponents to take down, and after that… Me. And then my sister goes home.

…I'm still not sure how this is going to work out. I mean, no matter how lucky I've been so far, eventually, I'm going to have to kill some people.

But… I can sort that out later. There's no need to now.

The last flourish of the anthem dies and leaves me in an eerie silence. It's easy to see how my sister could have fallen asleep in this—it's utterly peaceful.

But that also gives me the inchoate feeling that something bad's about to happen.

A few minutes of nothing—excluding a peculiar throbbing in my hands and arm—doesn't relieve my premonition.

And what happens afterward confirms it.

Something screeches loudly, and it takes me a few frantic moments to find the thing in the lucifugous environment. Though the darkness still keeps me from seeing details, I can now make out a very large flying thing topping the tree a few metres away. It seems to be shooting closer to us, so, with an exclamation to wake up my sister, I put my hands on the grass to push myself up—

—And instantly recoil with a shout of pain.

"S…Switz?" My sister sounds simultaneously alarmed and sleepy as she stirs.

I glance at my hands and just make out the crisscrossing, inflamed scratches. Where did these come from? Unless…

"Don't move!"

Liet gives a start but halts her motion.

"What's going on?"

"Just-just don't touch the grass, okay?"

I exhale through gritted teeth as the pain in my hands not only fails to go away, but also starts to spread to my arm. Suddenly reminded of why I was trying to get up in the first place, I wobble up without using my hands and finally manage to stand.

Liet looks at me concerned, but still obeys my command not to move.

I look over toward the tree, but I can't make out the bird any longer.

"All right," I start, holding out my uncut arm to my sister, "get up." She latches onto my arm and starts to pull herself up.

"Do you think you can climb over the ridge yourself?" I continue.

"Um, yes, I think so. But why—" She's interrupted by another screech, and I suddenly hear the thing's wings flapping.

"Climb over, hurry!"

She whips around and places her hands on the ridge, pulling herself up about halfway before I nudge her over with my shoulder. I navigate around the circumference of the ridge for a while, tapping my feet to try and find a foothold. I get something within a few metres, so, putting my foot on the shortest rock I could find, I hoist myself upward unstably, clomp my foot down on the highest part of the ridge here, and jump over, barely landing on my feet. Wings beat right behind me, so I find my sister and run toward her before it can get to me.

"Jump on!"

She seems unwilling to ride piggyback, but does what I say anyway, and I catch a glimpse of the very large, sharp-taloned bird about half a metre away before I take off running again.

Within a few seconds, I'm already tired. Why am I running, anyway? I still have that arrow, don't I? Gah, my brain's about as lacking as my physical condition now.

But… I could hardly nock the thing, with my hands the way they are now.

"Liet!"

"Yes?" she calls.

"Get the… the bow and arrow out of my waistband, and get it… ready to shoot!"

"O-Okay!"

I can't help but flinch as she lets go of my neck, shifting her weight wholly onto my lower arms and back. Taking a minute to feel around, she finally gets her hands on the weapon. In a moment, she throws one arm back around my neck, and then gets the bow ready to fire.

"Now what?"

"I'm going to… to help you fire it at him, okay? Let go on three!" I nervously come to a stop and turn around. Putting my uninjured arm over hers, I help her pull the string back.

"One…" The bird gets closer.

"Two…" He's almost upon us.

"Three!" We both pull our arms away, and the arrow goes flying. It pierces the bird, which ceases flying and plummets to the ground.

I start toward it panting. It's a little easier to see now, and I'm very sure it's dead.

"…All right. Good jo—" I'm cut off by a growl.

What is it _now_?

Trying to stop gasping for air, I peer around to find whatever had made that noise. It's only a matter of seconds before I locate it—or rather, them. Three abnormally large wolves stalk toward us.

I've had a little experience with wolves back in District 7—you leave them alone, they leave you alone. But, seeing as we're in the middle of the Hunger Games, I have a feeling it won't be that easy.

I cautiously take a step back, motioning for my sister to get back into a riding position very slowly. The wolves continue to approach at the same pace. I back up a few more hesitant steps, but fail to dissuade them. If I want to get away from these guys, I'm going to have to do something different.

But what? I don't have any weapons left. It's not like I could take on a single one of them hand-to-hand. All I can do is run, and I'm pretty sure I won't be able to for long. And if I don't do anything, they're sure to attack eventually.

Well, this day just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?

I turn around and run.

I can't tell if they pick up the pace behind me. All I know is that I have to run for shelter and get there before my legs give out, or we're both dead.

The next crater isn't close. And as I continue running, I can hear the mutts steadily gaining. I suspect it's because I'm slowing down.

I don't think I can go much longer… But… I have to get Liet out of this…

A cannon fires.

Well, less to compete with if we get out of this, somehow.

I clear a slight incline and drop down a little to keep running when I suddenly see someone collapsed on the stones ahead.

Is this who the cannon was for? I think I see a little blood on the rocks… But why hasn't the hovercraft come yet? Just too soon, I guess.

But I won't mind using the Gamemakers' folly to change my situation.

I dare to slow a bit as I approach the fallen tribute, who I now recognise as the boy from 3. Gripping his arm sends stabbing pain through my hand, but it's too late to change my strategy now. With a grunt, I swing the body around, throwing him to the wolf pack.

As I had expected, the mutts stop in their pursuit to see what he tastes like while I turn and bolt again.

As I had not expected, a cannon sounds.

I just about stop in my tracks.

He was… alive?

I remember what's going on and, though I feel too tired to move, make myself keep running. The forest crater looms closer. Although I don't think the wolves are still hot on our trail, I can't see enough to be sure. So, to be safe, I launch us into the crater, and, at fiercely painful protest from my hands, get us up a tree.

I have just a moment to realise that I've killed someone before I pass out.


	43. The Lost

Author's Note: Apologies for the late update. I could not figure out a way to write the first part of this for a while, but finally got it. And then, after inducing a Doc Editor blurb, I managed to delete it all. *headdesk*

So, apologies if it sounds wonky. I tried to recreate it, but... Tsk. You may punish me for my insolence.

In a review, of course.

Anywho, it's up, after the long wait. Enjoy~

Recommended Listening: Drive by The Cars

* * *

**Veta Edel, District 8**

It's morning. I guess I must have fallen asleep at some point; I'm only now opening my eyes to the rising sun. I don't remember getting to sleep, though.

Or how in the world I could actually be able to.

I do think I remember setting up some snares, though. Maybe I should check those, if they're there.

Even though my mind can't recall where I tied them, my feet can. I come across the first within minutes. It's empty. So is the second. And the third.

The fourth, though, has caught some sort of rabbit. The little, white creature is still struggling to escape. But it won't if I don't let it.

I don't let it.

I make my way back to the clearing with the thing in hand. I set it down and start to find dry pieces of wood. In a few minutes, I've accumulated enough for a decent fire.

As I set up the wood, my mind starts to wander.

It's still hard for me to believe I've killed someone. I know he deserved every bit of it—but it's... still wrong...

And I'd feel like a horrible person if I didn't regret it.

I skin the rabbit with a sharp rock. I don't do a good job of it. But it's as good as it's going to get.

But, thinking about murdering Gil... I really _don't _regret it.

...I guess I'm just a horrible person, then.

I remove the bones and skewer the meat on a stick. I still have the frying pan with me, but... I don't think I could stand to cook anything in it.

In a minute, I'm holding the spit above a fire. I rotate the rabbit every once in a while. The meat darkens slowly.

What's it matter if I'm horrible, though? There's no one left to love me. And there are more than enough people in the Capitol who already want me dead. It really doesn't even matter what kind of person I am.

Eventually, I deem the rabbit cooked enough and take it off the flame. I nibble at the meat while staring at the flames. They're small, and don't give off much smoke.

—And I'm suddenly reminded of a certain pair of piano-playing hands warming up over a similar fire...

But he's dead. God, he's dead, he's dead, he's fu—

I suddenly bring my hands to the handle of my frying pan and start to fiddle with the little, iron loop on the end.

I-It's kind of a peculiar thing, isn't it? Just a-a little loop I can barely fit two fingers in. I can't think of-of how it'd be useful for cooking.

I guess you're supposed to-to hang it up by it or something. Yeah, that's-that's probably it. But the way it's attached, you-you couldn't just hang it on a wall, or the pan would jut out at you. You'd have to-to hang it up in the middle of the room. Like a trophy or something. Although I can't really see why you'd want to do that. Especially...

Not... With this one...

I give up trying to distract myself. It's pointless. No matter what I do, nothing is going to chance. And I'll still lead myself back to the same thing.

I've lost my love. I've lost my humanity. I've lost my joy.

All I have left is my life.

And I'm not planning on losing it, too.

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

Looks like I won't be eating breakfast today. Mostly because it's almost noon and I haven't found anything to eat. So, if I do get my hands on something, it'll be more like brunch.

Brunch—that sounds kind of fun!

I clamber around the rocks some more, trying to figure out where the closest crater is, when something abruptly starts to tug my neck to the side. Pausing in my climbing, I turn quizzically to find that the tear in my scarf has caught on a rock. I guide the cloth over the stone carefully; I don't want it to get any more damaged than it already is. The scarf slowly makes it way off and dangles limply in my grasp.

I watch it for a moment as it sways in the mild breeze.

I always liked this scarf. I can't quite remember when sis made it for me, though... 9 years ago? 10?

Sis... It's still kind of weird to think that she's gone...

But it's not all so bad. I can still have fun in the Hunger Games and kill some people.

Hmm... Now that I think about it, that's what the person who got rid of my sister did, wasn't it? Am I doing the same thing, really?

No, no way. When he killed Ukraine, I was sad for a little bit. But I'm not making anyone sad. So, yeah! I have to be doing something a _little _different.

Tossing my scarf back over my shoulder, I continue around the mountain unabated.

The first crater I come up to is the forest. Is there food there? I haven't seen any, but I'm sure there must be _something_.

I peer over the ridge. Did something just move?

Another flash of fur tells me something did.

Well! Time for my brunch, then!

I trot over to the crater's edge and hop in.

**Switz Wingly, District 7**

When I first start to recover my consciousness, all I can register is my swallowing something. A second later, I sense a meaty sort of taste and swallow something again.

What is it...? Broth...?

Another spoonful or so makes its way into my mouth.

Yeah... Broth of some sort...

A bit more cognizant, I unclose my eyes a little. Light pours in immediately, so I figure I must have slept through the night.

As my vision starts to clear, so does the feeling in my hands and arm—which becomes very _clearly _painful. I think it would be enough to make me flinch if I could move at all.

"Good morning!"

A smiling Liet comes into focus after I blink. She's perched steadily across a few different tree branches and has something in her hands. Upon blinking again, I figure out that she's grasping a white, ceramic bowl.

"Enjoying your breakfast?" She continues, tapping the bowl lightly. She suddenly glances upward, then looks back toward me. "Or maybe lunch. I can't quite tell."

"Uh... Yeah..." My voice comes out horribly gravelly, so I clear my throat. "But... Why are you...? You... You should be the one eating..."

My sister scowls, the expression so uncommon on her face I almost give a start.

"No! You need it more." She puts the bowl back to my lips, and I can't help but swallow the next wave of broth. "I'm not going to eat anything until you're in condition to make me."

While I hate the fact she's trying to sacrifice herself for me—she has a point. Even though I'm awake, I still can't seem to move any of my limbs.

Now that I think about it... That's... That's going to make it pretty hard to get her home, isn't it?

...

Oh, well. Doesn't matter. I'll make it happen somehow.

I gulp down the next bit of broth without resistance.


	44. Right and Wrong

Recommended Listening: Sunday Bloody Sunday by U2

* * *

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

My brunch is already a metre ahead of me before I even land in the forest. And it didn't take any time at all to realise I was after it.

So I'm still in pursuit of the furry, brown thing. I'm not completely sure what exactly it is. It's about the size of a housecat, but its tail is too fluffy for it to be that.

Oh, well. Whatever it is now, it'll be food later!

I continue after it as it speeds forward, keeping just inside the crater wall. I'm still not catching up, but I'm not losing ground, either. The animal jumps over a protruding bush, but I can't see it running out from the other side.

Slowing down as I approach the shrub, I pace a circle around it. The fuzzy thing is nowhere in sight. I glance back over toward the far circumference of the crater. Still no movement.

It just disappeared? Well, why would it do that?

—I hear a rustle right next to me.

Assuming it's the furry thing, I perk up and look at the tree beside me. I can't see anything brown in the leaves, but… There's something bright red.

Quietly, so I don't disturb whatever's in there, I stalk forward, poking just enough leaves out of the way to know what I'm seeing. And I can finally make out what's hiding there.

I'm instantly excited. This is much better than I was expecting! I may not get my brunch, but who cares?

I just found two tributes!

**Liet Wingly, District 7**

I just finish giving my brother the last of the broth when I abruptly hear leaves crackling. Switz tries to stir, but can't shift himself more than a few centimetres.

"Ssh," I warn, lowering the bowl and looking about for whatever rustled the leaves. I've pretty well convinced myself it was just a squirrel or something when I spot a few frostbitten fingertips being pulled away from the foliage.

Staying as still as possible, I try not to look distressed. But it's obvious from the alarmed look on my brother's face that he saw it, too.

We've been found. We have no weapons, and neither of us is in fighting condition.

We have plenty to be alarmed about.

There are only a few moments of heart-churning silence before the leaves start to rustle violently. Knowing there's nowhere to hide, I turn to face it, my red backpack scraping against the tree branches behind me.

The leaves part, revealing the face of the boy from 9.

"Hello!" he chirps.

I only stare back, and soon realise I've started shaking.

This tribute... He's been after us before. I don't know what would have happened if Switz hadn't had that arrow.

...

But I guess we'll find out now.

"Are you ready to have some fun?" the 9 continues, smiling cheerily.

Having no idea what else to do, I nod. Although I get the feeling what's fun for him isn't going to be for me.

"Yay!" Russia withdraws his fingers for a second, the branches whipping back into place. I stare at the leaves until his hands return—this time one of them grasping a large knife.

Dread like liquid nitrogen shoots through my veins, and I shuffle back a branch. But it doesn't dissuade him. As I scuttle back again, I suddenly hear more shuffling beside me.

My brother is trying to get up.

"Don't!" I start, trying to stay quiet although the climbing Russia is sure to hear me anyway. Switz either doesn't hear me or ignores me; he's just about sitting up by the time our enemy has lifted himself wholly into the tree.

"Hello, you two!" he hums, spinning his knife in his hands like a harmless toy. "This is going to be fun! And I've been waiting to kill you—" to my horror, he points the tip of his blade toward my brother—"ever since you ripped a hole in my scarf."

"No!" I lurch over to take a place between my brother and the other tribute. "You're not killing him! I won't let you!"

Russia frowns at this for the slightest second, and then shrugs. "Well, okay. Should I just kill you first, then?"

I can't respond before he lunges; I close my eyes, preparing for the worst.

But I'm shoved to the side before I can feel the blade.

I tumble on an unstable hammock of branches for a few seconds before I finally gain enough control to scramble back to the battlefield.

Russia is blinking in surprise, holding a bloody-edged blade, while my brother has finally managed to sit up—as well as receive a long knife slash down the middle of his face.

"What are you—" I can't finish my question before Russia has accepted the situation enough to strike again. In panic, I throw myself forward before he reaches my brother.

The cold bite of steel greets me in the abdomen, and I can't keep myself from crying out in pain. Even more agony stabs through my stomach as the blade is ripped back out. I start to sway backward, but I grip some rough bark to keep myself from doing so. I can't let my brother die now. I-I know I can't help fight Russia, but I can... I can at least buy some time for Switz to regain strength...

The 9 grips his knife for a minute before deciding to thrust again. I don't bother to dodge—I'd just end up letting my brother take the hit. So the blade digs into my stomach again, slicing itself over through to my side before leaving. I cough, my abdomen throbbing as my consciousness tries to jerk itself away. But I can't let it. Not... now.

I look back up at Russia just before he lurches forward again. Bracing myself, I tighten my grip on the branches—

But before I can stop myself, I'm shoved forward, hard. The knife doesn't do so much as graze my head before it's embedded in something behind me.

Shaking, I force myself to sit back up—

And see the knife lodged into my brother's chest.

"N-No!" I grip Russia's arm in an attempt to make him let go, but he yanks the blade away without struggle. My brother collapses sideways into the branches.

"Switz!" Forgetting the 9, I hurry over to my brother and roll him face-up. He smiles at me faintly before closing his eyes.

I shake him by the shoulders.

"No! Stop it! You-You can't—" The cannon boom interrupts me.

"You can't... die..." I let go of him shaking as tears blur my vision.

"...Y'know, I'm still here."

I'm forced to turn around at the voice.

...I have no time to mourn if I want to live. B-But... I don't have any weapons... I... I...

"P-Please, just... just leave me alone..."

"Oh, but that's no fun!"

I'm barely heedful enough to get out of the way of the next strike.

**Veta Edel, District 8**

I had heard something toward the edge of the forest, so I decided to head over and check it out. I stayed hidden until I was just a metre away from the other tribute. He climbed up into a tree. I didn't know why until I heard the others. A girl. Talk of another boy in the tree as well. Shouting, screaming. A cannon.

And now the girl—Liet from 7 if I remember correctly—is scrambling back out of the branches.

"—L-Leave me alone!" she cries. "Please, j-just…" She gets to the very edge of the tree she's in before I can make out the other boy through the foliage. Russia from 9. He just pops his head out from the leaves before Liet makes a jump for an adjacent tree. She clings to a branch, and I can just start to see the damage she's taken—everything below her stomach is covered with at least a thin layer of blood.

Russia darts out after her, making his way to the other tree easily despite having one hand occupied by a bloody knife.

…He's going to kill her. He's going to murder an innocent for sport.

Kind of… reminds me of someone else. Someone I beat to death for the crime.

…I could do it here, too. The frying pan is still in my grip. I could easily attack Russia and save the girl.

But then what? I'm still in the Hunger Games. If I save her now, I'll only have to kill her myself.

I know I couldn't stand that. So, what? I'm just going to stand here while a child is hacked to pieces? There's nothing right about that, either.

Wrong to stand here. Wrong to go fight. Everything's wrong in the Hunger Games. The only good you can do is die.

…I have to look away as the girl does this good.


	45. In The End

Author's Note: This is the last chapter of the Games. WOW, that seems weird. This fic has been such an obsession of mine for the last-what? Three months? It's so weird to think it's almost over...

Well, here's the last battle. There will be an epilogue chapter after this- and then the fic is over.

Recommended Listening: The Final Countdown by Europe

* * *

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

Well, that went a little faster than I was hoping for. Not much I can do to drag it out after they're dead, though. In fact, the hovercraft already came for Switz—you can tell from the splintered, severed branches of the tree he was in.

And a hovercraft is coming for his sister now. She's already fallen to the ground, so the claw doesn't have to break any branches to get to her.

I look at the spot where she whilom lay. Even though she wasn't there for long, the grass and dirt is already soaked with blood.

Hm. Normally blood is kinda pretty, but not here. Maybe it just has to be on a person to look nice.

My reverie is interrupted by something rustling.

Another tribute?

I perk up and look around, but I don't see anyone.

Oh… Well… was it my brunch again?

I trot over a few steps and make out something brown and soft just peeping out from behind a tree.

But it's not my brunch.

That's human hair.

**Veta Edel, District 8**

"Hello!"

I freeze at the voice before realising that's the last thing I want to do. Common sense directs me to get my frying pan ready as I turn to face my opponent.

Don't know how long I was expecting to hide, anyway. Now that I think about it… Is this the last match? I didn't dare to watch the death count when I knew my husband would be up there—but I remember how many were left before then. And how many cannons blew that day.

After a moment of math, I realise this _is_ actually the last battle.

Well… Good. I really don't want to kill any more people than I have to.

"You ready to have some fun?" the 9 chirps, twirling his blade in his hand.

Fun? He thinks this is _fun_? He's just as bad as I thought if he believes the Hunger Games are _fun_. I can't say I deserve to win after what I've done—but if this tribute is crazy enough to murder for sport...

Well, let's just say it'd be a lot better for the world if he weren't the one to get out alive.

I glance about our surroundings. The trees are too thick here for me to swing my weapon around much—but I'm sure Russia will be able to stab at me just fine.

Before he can attack, I spin around and bolt for the clearing. Luckily, the 9 isn't faster than me—I reach the open area without getting nicked at all.

I jog over to the middle of the glade before finally turning around to face my opponent. He trots to about half a metre away from me.

"Good idea," he chirps agog. "It _was _kind of crowded back there!"

"Yeah," I deadpan, tightening and loosening my grip on the pan repeatedly.

He takes a step forward, and I raise my frying pan protectively.

"Well, no need to waste time, hm?" he sings. "Let's get started!"

He leaps forward, slashing a gash in my stomach that I only manage to block halfway across. The second he pulls the knife back, I bring my weapon around, aiming for his head. He ducks, and, upon popping back up, lands another score, this time across my forearm. I whip my pan back around as quickly as possible and finally hit his head, though he flinches away before I can knock him over. Trying to ignore the burning feeling flaring up in my arm, I pull the frying pan back and bring it around again. It collides nicely with his skull, and he stumbles backward.

I step up after him, and, lifting my weapon into the air, bring it straight down on his head. He buckles over with a cry of pain. I prepare to strike again—

—But there's suddenly a gash across my ankles, and I unwillingly collapse from the pain.

No... No! However much my ankles have healed from the grass—it's suddenly all back. The Gamemakers must have had one fun time coming up with a poison that stays in your system like this.

My grip tightens on my pan as Russia rises back to his feet. He blinks a few times, as if he's trying to dispel some dizziness, and then raises his knife to slash again. I hurriedly bring my weapon up to block.

His blade bounces off with a clang, although I nearly lose my grip in deflecting it. I rearrange my hands over the handle, though, and block the next strike a little more cleanly. Russia seems to regain his dexterity, though, and I'm soon met with a flurry of knife strikes. I manage to block most, until the blade skirts off the pan and digs into my undamaged forearm. I draw back, but he gets another stab to my arm before I'm ready.

This... isn't going well. Am I just going to keep blocking until he wears me out? I can't stand up, so I can't deliver another knock to his head. And I don't think hitting him in the shins a few times is going to change that.

But... What else am I supposed to do?

I parry the next onslaught without injury, though I can tell my strength continues to wane. Russia continues the array of slashes and stabs. I block a slash. Deflect a stab. Deter another slash—one that nearly drives the frying pan from my hand. And before I can adjust my grip, another stab is coming. I know I can't get the body of the pan up in time, but I couldn't block with the handle without completely losing my grip—

And, before I'm completely sure of what I'm trying to do, I bring the very end of the handle into the knife's trajectory—

—And the blade catches in that little iron loop.

**Russia Bragins, District 9**

I falter when my knife gets stuck. Because I wasn't expecting that at _all_! How fun!

I try to wobble the blade's edge back out, but it's too cemented in the little loop thing for me to do it easily.

And before I can get it out, it's suddenly jerked out of my hands. I blink in confusion as it's whipped around by the frying pan and flipped over onto the ground just behind Veta.

"Ah!" I lurch for it, but even with her ankles like they are, Veta reaches it first.

I step back.

Well, this was definitely unexpected...

Veta lets go of her pan, clenches my blade's handle tight and pushes herself off the ground. She staggers, but manages to stand wobbily.

I realise all of a sudden just how close she could come to killing me, and I lunge for the knife in her hand. I manage to grasp it by the blade, but Veta wrenches my arm away, and I'm left with nothing but a bloody hand to show for it.

Veta doesn't let go of my arm, and I can't escape. I try to scoot myself over to pick up her old weapon, but she suddenly has the strength to keep me from doing so.

But she still doesn't stab me.

"...Come on, Veta..."

I stare. Is she talking to herself?

Huh. I guess she's kind of crazy, then.

She continues, and I can only stand and listen.

"He... has killed innocent people. Just. Like. Gil!"

And before I can react, the knife is suddenly shoved between my ribs. Veta lets go, and I stumble to the ground convulsing.

Am I... about to die? Right here? But... But that can't be right...

My vision starts to go dark.

I guess... I am.

W-Well... At least...

At least I'll get to see my sister again.

The world goes blank.


	46. Repeat

Author's Note: Well, everyone, this is it. I thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, and I'm sorry there's nothing more to this story to give you. You may like my other works (this story has a sequel, as well as a few tie-ins) or my favourites—or you may not. Either way, I am glad to have entertained you.

For those of you who are interested, here's a compressed compilation of the deaths:

Tiee Bongiovi D6 14 (Lude)  
Maria Carriedo D3 15 (Corianne)  
Eudocia Conc D10 13 (Corianne)  
Philan Visce D11 15 (Chia)  
Chia Mendel D4 16 (Philan)  
Peyton Unbi D11 15 (Vivi)  
Franse Bonnefoy D5 16 (Alf)  
Wynd Blune D5 15 (Alf)  
Poal Feliks D12 13 (Pony)  
Ukraine Bragins D9 18 (Japan)  
Corianne File D2 15 (Gil)  
Toris Lithu D12 14 (Russia)  
Ciano Idalya D6 15 (Lude)  
Vivi Daley D1 15 (Thew)  
Alf Meric D1 16 (Japan)  
Japan Hond D4 17 (Alf)  
Austria Edel D8 18 (Gil)  
Gil Prus D10 17 (Veta)  
Lude Ermany D2 17 (Russia)  
Thew Canda D3 16 (Switz)  
Switz Wingly D7 18 (Russia)  
Liet Wingly D7 12 (Russia)  
Russia Bragins D9 15 (Veta)

* * *

**Sadik Ottoman, District 8**

Of the few things I was expecting to happen this week, getting reaped and thrown into the Training Centre was not one of them.

I can't say the odds were in my favour—I'm 17, after all—but... I don't know. This just doesn't seem like the kind of thing that should happen to me.

But it's happening. To me as well as to my 16-year-old districtmate, Greis.

...She definitely won't be an ally of mine. She might be the top of the class in math and philosophy, but any advantage that might gain me is more than countered by her pseudo-narcolepsy. Because when you're nodding off every few minutes, you're not going to be that useful in a survival situation.

Weird to think I'm already trying to figure out a strategy for this. To figure out how I want to _kill _people.

My thought process unnerves me, so I turn my attention back to the dinner table. While I lost count long ago what course we were on, it looks like it's time for dessert.

I can only pick at what's on my plate, even though I usually really like sweet food.

…I can't believe I'm going to be in the _Hunger Games_. I had tried to ignore them before now, but… Kind of hard to once you're in the middle of it.

"…Sadik? Sadik!"

I blink and look up from my plate to see the escort staring at me.

"Hm? What?"

"You could at least _pretend _to pay attention," the escort tuts, crossing her arms.

I subconsciously glance over at my district partner. Yup. Asleep. Funny how I have to pay attention, but she doesn't.

"Sorry…" I finally respond, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

"Hmph!" the escort sighs. "Well, I was just asking you what you thought about our Victor's Games two years ago."

I look over at the only remaining District 8 Victor—the one before her apparently got killed in a freak train accident—and see she's already staring blankly at me. I turn away awkwardly.

"Um… Yeah. It was a… pretty stunning victory," I cough. Honestly, I don't remember much about her Games… Just something about a psycho from 9 and a frying pan.

The escort frowns. "You don't remember it at all, do you?"

"Huh? Yeah, of course I do," I retort defensively.

"Please." I almost jump at recognising the apparently-awake Greis's voice. "I bet you don't even know her name."

"I do, too!" I take a bite of my dessert to buy a little bit of time. "It's Veta… Ungar, right?"

The escort suddenly grimaces, and I only get a moment to wonder why before I catch Veta's livid glare.

"That," she starts in a terrifyingly low voice, "is not… my name!" She abruptly stands up from her chair, making it loudly grind backward, and slams her napkin on the table. I can only watch bewilderedly as she flees to her room.

"…Well, looks like you screwed that one up," Greis comments drily.

I glare. "I bet you just made me do that because you didn't know her name yourself!"

"I'm perfectly aware of her name."

"Then what is it?"

"What you said."

I stare blankly. "Then… You're just making it up now! I—"

"No, she's right," the escort interrupts, her voice lower than its usual shrieky octave. "Our Victor's name is Veta Ungar… but…" The escort sighs dramatically, putting a hand to her forehead. "She'll go crazy if you call her that."

I'm dangerously close to replying, "No, _really_?" but I decide to keep my mouth shut.

"…And why is that?" I end up prompting.

"Well, since you apparently don't know anything about her Games…" The escort shakes her head in disapproval. "Long story short, she 'married' the other tribute from 8 that year, so she insists that she's taken his name. She wants everyone to call her Mrs. Austria Edel, even though the wedding was _far _from official."

Austria Edel… Sounds familiar for some reason…

Oh! I remember. There was a short district meeting when his coffin was sent back here—apparently he didn't have any sort of family left to bury him.

I think that old man that lives next door took him. The guy owned some store… Art, or music, or something.

I kind of preferred not to pay attention to the whole ordeal.

"Oh, okay…" I poke a spoon around in my dessert, but I'm still not that hungry. Setting the silverware down with a soft clink, I stand up. "I'm going to go ahead and go to my room."

"All right," the escort responds. My district partner says nothing—she's probably fallen asleep again.

I pad back to my room. While I did get a brief peek inside on the drawn-out tour of the floor, this is the first time I've actually gone inside. For a guy who doesn't mind being in the lap of luxury every once in a while, it's pretty amazing. A huge bed, unearthly amounts of electronics, buttons lining the walls, and still enough space to stand up and stretch out anywhere in the room you go.

I wander around the walls for a while, trying to figure out some of the buttons. One arouses a technologic view of the Capitol, another some sort of interactive menu, and another interface that must be a video game. As I progress around the room, I eventually summon some sort of keyboard out of the wall. Curious, I jab at one of the shiny, white keys. A low piano tone resounds throughout the room until I take my hand back.

After a few more minutes of goofing around with the thing, I've discovered some sort of recording device incorporated into the keyboard. I record myself banging on the keys for a few minutes, then poke around the interface to figure out how to play it back. I find my recording and listen—although it's definitely not anything remotely resembling a masterpiece. Cancelling out of my recording, I notice another one saved here. It's dated two years ago, so there's no way I did it. Inquisitive, I pull up the file and listen.

…

_This _I would call a masterpiece. The kind of thing I couldn't play in a million years. The kind of thing I wouldn't even expect to _hear _in a million years.

I find myself traipsing over to the bed and seating myself as the music continues. It's a bit hypnotising—so much so that I barely register the furious knocking on the door. I slip back off the bed, and, not wanting to shut off the recording, go straight to the door.

I've barely opened it a centimetre before the shouting begins.

"Turn it off right now!"

The door swings open to reveal a very distraught-looking Veta.

"Wha—" is all I get out before she cuts back in.

"Turn it off—_now_—or I will refuse to mentor you!"

Realising the sudden gravity of the situation, I hurry over to the keyboard and shut off the recording. With another button push, the keys recede into the wall.

I turn back toward Veta, who's still standing in the doorway panting.

I wonder what she must have against that music, to come sprinting down here to stop it—not to mention threatening to refrain from teaching me as well...

Veta's breaths slow, and she slumps over a little. She rubs her forehead with a sigh.

"Do you... mind if I come in?"

"Um... No, not at all," I respond, a little confused by her sudden withdrawal of authority.

She totters in and takes a seat on the foot of my bed, and then motions for me to do the same.

I settle next to her before noticing a little smear of blood near the edge of her shirtsleeve. It's like she accidentally nicked her wrist on something. But if that were the case, some of the sleeve would be damaged, too...

"...Listen."

I'm grateful for her interruption.

"...I know I have my foibles, but... I got through the Hunger Games, you know? I'm about as broken as they come." She laughs humourlessly. "So... Try to cope with my insanity, and I'll mentor you the best I can. Deal?"

I nod. "Deal."

"All right, good," she sighs, standing back up. "I'll, uh, see you tomorrow, then."

"Okay."

She exits the room without another sound. I sit silently for a minute before getting up and closing the door.

...All right, then... What now? I guess it's almost late enough to go to sleep.

...Might as well. Go to sleep, wake up...

And start the whole cycle all over again.


End file.
